‘Congratulations, Lia,’ he said, his voice chilling her. ‘You’ve won the jackpot after all.

‘You’re about to become a Scott.’

‘This is not how I wanted this to happen,’ she said, on a throat-aching whisper. Tears pressed the backs of her eyes. She couldn’t let them fall.

‘You came here,’ he said, his voice hard. ‘What did you expect? Did you think I would be happy?’

She dropped her gaze. A single tear spilled free and she dashed it away, determined not to cry in front of him. Not to be weak.

‘I had hoped you might be, yes.’ She lifted her chin and sucked back her tears. ‘Clearly, I was mistaken.’

‘We’ll marry,’ he said. ‘Because we must. But it’s an arrangement, do you understand? We’ll do it for as long as necessary to protect our families and then we’ll end it when the time comes.’

About the Author

LYNN RAYE HARRIS read her first Mills & Boon® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead, she married a military man and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Mills & Boon is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com

A Façade to Shatter
Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For all those who serve in the armed forces,

thank you for your service.

CHAPTER ONE

ZACH SCOTT DIDN’T do parties. Not anymore.

Once, he’d been the life of the party. But everything had changed a little over a year ago. Zach shoved his hands into his tuxedo trouser pockets and frowned. He’d thought coming to Sicily with a friend, in order to attend a wedding, would be an easy thing to do. There’d been no wedding, it had turned out, but the reception was taking place anyway. And he stood on the edge of the ballroom, wondering where Taylor Carmichael had got to. Wondering if he could slip away and text his regrets to her.

His head was pounding after a rough night. He’d been dreaming again. Dreaming of guns and explosions and planes plummeting from the sky.

There was nothing like a fight for survival to rearrange a man’s priorities. Since his plane had been shot down in enemy territory, the kinds of things he’d once done—fund-raisers, public appearances, speeches, political dinners—were now a kind of torture he’d prefer to live without.

Except it was more impossible to get out of those things now than ever before. Not only was he Zachariah James Scott IV, son of an eminent United States senator and heir to a pharmaceuticals fortune, he was also a returning military hero.

Zach’s frown deepened.

Since his rescue—in which every single marine sent to extract him had perished—he’d been in demand as a sort of all-American poster boy. The media couldn’t get enough of him, and he knew a big part of that was his father’s continual use of his story in his public appearances.

Zachariah J. Scott III wasn’t about to let the story die. Not when it could do him a world of political good.

His son had done his duty when he could have chosen an easier path. His son had chosen to serve his country instead of himself. It was true that Zach could have sat on the Scott Pharmaceuticals board and moved mountains of money instead of flying jets into a war zone. But the jets were a part of him.

Or had been a part of him until the crash had left him with crushing, unpredictable headaches that made it too dangerous to fly.

Yes, everyone loved that he’d bravely gone to war and survived.

Except he didn’t feel brave, and he damn sure didn’t feel like he’d done anything extraordinary. He didn’t want the attention, didn’t deserve the accolades. He’d failed pretty spectacularly, in his opinion.

But he couldn’t make them stop. So he stood stiffly and smiled for the cameras like a dutiful military man should, and he felt dead inside. And the deader he felt, the more interested the media seemed to get.

It wasn’t all bad, though. He’d taken over the stewardship of the Scott Foundation, his family’s charitable arm, and he worked tirelessly to promote military veterans’ causes. They often came back with so little, and with their lives shattered. The government tried to take care of them, but it was a huge job—and sometimes they fell through the cracks.

It was Zach’s goal to save as many of them as he could. He owed it to them, by God.

He made a visual sweep of the room. At least the media attention wasn’t directed at him right now. The Sicilian media was far more interested in the fact the bride had jilted the groom at the altar. Zach was of no interest whatsoever to this crowd. That, at least, was a bonus.

It wasn’t often he could move anonymously through a gathering like this one.

Still, he was on edge, as if he were being followed. He prowled the edges of the crowd in the darkened ballroom, his headache barely under control as he searched for Taylor. She wasn’t answering his texts, and he was growing concerned. She’d been so worried about this trip, about her return to acting, and about the director’s opinion of her.

But Taylor was tough, and he knew she would have gone into the press event with her head held high. She wanted this film badly, wanted the money and respectability for the veterans’ clinic back in Washington, D.C., where she’d spent so much time working to help others. He thought of the soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines—most suffering the debilitating effects of posttraumatic stress—the clinic helped, thought of the constant need for funding, and knew that Taylor would have entered that room determined to succeed.

What he didn’t know was how it had turned out.

He stepped into a quiet corner—if there was such a thing—and reached into his breast pocket for his phone. A small medal hanging from a ribbon came out with it, and he blinked as he realized what it was. The Distinguished Flying Cross he’d been awarded after returning from the high Afghan desert. Taylor must have put it in there when she’d picked up the tux from the cleaners for him. He fingered the starburst, squeezed it in his palm before putting it back into his pocket.

He hadn’t wanted the medal, but he hadn’t had a choice. There were other medals, too, which his father never failed to mention in his speeches, but Zach just wanted to forget them all.

Taylor insisted he had to realize he deserved them. She meant well, damn her, but she drove him crazier than any sister ever could have.

He dialed Taylor’s number impatiently. No answer. Frustration hammered into him. He wanted to know she was all right, and he wanted to escape this room. The crowd was swelling—never let it be said that Sicilians let a chance to party go to waste—and the noise level was growing louder.

He was in no mood.

He turned toward the exit just as the DJ blared the first track and the crowd cheered. The lights went completely out and strobe lights flashed. Zach’s heart began to thud painfully. Against his will, he shrank into the wall, breathing hard.

It’s just a party, just a party. But the flashes didn’t stop, people started to shout, and he couldn’t fight the panic dragging him down any longer.

No, no, no …

Suddenly he was back in the trench, in the pitch of night, the bursts of gunfire and explosives all around him, the thrumming of their bass boom ricocheting into his breastbone, making his body ache with the pressure. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, his throat full of sand and dust and grit.

Violence and frustration bloomed inside his gut. He wanted to fight, wanted to surge upright and grab a gun, wanted to help the marines hold off the enemy. But they’d drugged him, because he’d broken his leg, and he couldn’t move.

He lay helpless, his eyes squeezed tight—and then he felt a soft hand on his arm. The hand moved along his upper arm, ghosted over his cheek. The touch of skin on skin broke his paralysis.

He reacted with the instincts of a warrior, grabbing the hand and twisting it until the owner cried out. The cry was soft, feminine, not at all that of a terrorist bent on destroying him. Vaguely, he realized the body pressed against his was not rough. It was clad in something satiny that slid against the fabric of his own clothing.

He forced his eyes open after long moments. The lights still flashed, and his heart still pumped adrenaline into his body. He blinked and shook his head. Was he not in the desert? Was he not the last one alive in the trench?

The sounds began to separate themselves until he could pick out music, laughter and loud conversation. He focused on the elegant paneled wall in front of him—and realized he held a woman against it, her hand high up behind her back. He could hear her panting softly.

“Please,” she said, her voice calmer than he expected it to be. “I don’t think I am who you think I am.”

Who he thought she was? Zach blinked. Who did he think she was?

A terrorist. Someone bent on killing him.

But she wasn’t, was she? He was in Sicily, at the infamous Corretti wedding, and this woman was a guest. Her blue-green eyes were set in a pretty face. Dark hair was piled on top of her head, and her breasts strained against the fabric of her gown, threatening to pop free at any moment. He hadn’t spun her around, but instead held her against the wall with his body practically wrapped around hers.

One hand held hers behind her back, nearly between her shoulder blades, while the other gripped her jaw and forced her head back against the paneling. Her soft curves melded against him, filling all the hard angles of his body in ways he hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

He’d had no room for softness in his life since returning from the war. He’d viewed it as something of a regret, but a necessary one. Now, he found that he was starving for the contact. His body began to stir, the telltale thrum of blood in his groin taking him by surprise.

Zach let the woman go as if she’d burned him and took a hasty step backward. What the hell was wrong with him? This was why he didn’t like public appearances anymore—what if he lost his mind the way he just had? What would the media say then?

Son of a bitch.

“Forgive me,” he said tightly.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

It was such a normal question, in response to an abnormal situation, and yet he couldn’t formulate an answer. He simply wanted to escape. For once, instead of standing stoically and enduring whatever was flung at him, he wanted out.

There was no one here to stop him, no reporters or cameras, no duty pressing him to remain where he was and endure.

He turned blindly, seeking an exit. Somehow, he found a door and burst through it, into the cool and quiet hallway. Behind him, he heard movement. He didn’t know why he turned, but he did.

She was there, watching him. Her hair was dark red and her dress a shocking shade of pink that looked as if it was about to split across her generous breasts.

“Are you all right?” she asked again.

“Fine,” he replied in crisp Italian. “I apologize. You startled me.”

She came forward then, hesitantly, her hands clasped together in front of her. She was lovely, he decided, in spite of the horrible dress. Her shape was imprinted on his mind, her curves still burning into his body. His hands itched to explore her, but he kept them clenched into fists at his sides. He used to take whatever women offered him, as often as they offered it, but that man had ceased to exist in the months after he’d returned from the war.

At first, he’d indulged in sex because he’d thought it would help him forget. It hadn’t. It had only sharpened the contrast between life and death, only made him feel worse instead of better.

Now, denying himself was a matter of routine. Not to mention safer for all involved. His dreams were too unpredictable to sleep with a woman at his side.

Worse, they seemed to be sliding into his waking life if what had just happened was any indication.

The woman was still looking at him. Blue-green eyes fringed in dark lashes blinked up at him as a line formed on her forehead. “You really don’t look well.”

He glanced down at her hands, at the way she rubbed the thumb of one hand into her wrist. He’d hurt her, and it sickened him. What kind of man had he become? He was coming unglued inside, and no one could help him.

“I’m fine,” he clipped out. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Her eyes dropped. “You didn’t really. You just surprised me.”

“You’re lying,” he said, and her head snapped up, her eyes searching his. Something in those eyes called to him, but he shut it off and backed away.

“You don’t know that,” she replied, her chin lifting. “You don’t know me.”

He almost believed her. But her lip trembled, ruining her brave façade, and Zach loathed himself. “You should go,” he said. “Walk away. It’s safer.”

She blinked. “Safer? Are you so dangerous, then?”

He swallowed. “Perhaps.”

Her gaze was steady. Penetrating. “I’m not afraid,” she said softly. “And I don’t think you’re dangerous to anyone but yourself.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. No one had ever said that to him before. The truth of it was sharper than any blade.

More frightening.

Anger and despair flowed over him in waves. He wanted to be normal again, wanted to be what he’d once been. But he couldn’t seem to dig out of the morass, and he hated himself for it. He simply didn’t know what normal was anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, because there was nothing else he could say. And then he turned and strode away.

Lia Corretti sucked in a disappointed breath as she watched the tall, dark American striding down the hall away from her. Something fell from his hand and bounced on the plush carpet. Lia hurried forward, calling to him.

He did not turn back. She stooped to pick up the small object on the floor. It was some kind of military medal suspended from a red, white and blue ribbon. She clutched it in her hand and looked down the long corridor at his retreating back. He walked so precisely, so stiffly, with the bearing of a soldier.

Of course he did.

She looked at the medal again. He’d dropped it on purpose. She did not doubt that. She’d seen his fingers open, seen the shiny object tumble to the floor, but he hadn’t stopped to retrieve it.

Why?

Her wrist still smarted where he’d twisted it behind her back. She didn’t think he’d been aware of what he’d been doing. He’d seemed … distant, as if he were somewhere else. It’s what had made her go to him, what had made her touch him and ask if he was all right. He’d been plastered against that wall, his eyes squeezed tight shut, and she’d thought he’d been ill.

Lia closed her fingers around the medal. It was warm from his skin, and her heart skipped. She could still see the raw look on his face when he’d realized what he was doing to her.

She knew that look. It was one of self-loathing, one of relief and one of confusion all rolled into one. She knew it because she’d lived with those feelings her entire life.

In that moment, she’d felt a kinship with him. It was so strange. After a lifetime of isolation, one moment of looking into a stranger’s eyes had made her feel less alone than she’d ever felt before.

She turned to go back into the ballroom, though she’d rather be anywhere else, and caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the full-length mirrors lining the corridor. Revulsion shuddered through her.

No wonder he’d wanted to get away.

She was a whale. A giant pink whale bursting at the seams. She’d been so excited when she’d been asked to be a bridesmaid. She’d finally thought she might be accepted by the sleek, beautiful Corretti family, but instead she’d been forced into a blazing pink dress at least two sizes too small for her bust. Carmela Corretti had laughed when she’d walked out of the fitting room, but she’d promised to have the dress fixed.

She hadn’t, of course.

Lia’s grandmother was the only one who’d seemed to sympathize. When Lia put the dress on today, despair and humiliation rolling through her in giant waves, her grandmother had hugged her tight and told her she was beautiful.

Tears pricked Lia’s eyes. Teresa Corretti was the only one in the family who had ever been kind to her. Her grandfather hadn’t been unkind, precisely, but he’d always frightened her. She still couldn’t believe he was gone. He’d loomed so large in her life that she’d started to think him immortal. He’d been intense, driven, the kind of man no one crossed. But now he was dead, and the family wasn’t any closer than they’d ever been. Not only that, but Lia wasn’t certain that her cousin Alessandro wasn’t to be more feared as the new head of the family.

Lia screwed up her courage and reentered the ballroom. A glance at her watch told her she’d put in enough time to call it an evening. She was going to find her grandmother and tell her she was leaving. No one would care that she was gone anyway.

The music pumped and thumped as it had before, and the crowd surged. But then another sound lifted over the din. It took Lia a minute to realize it was Carmela, shrieking drunkenly.

Lia despised her late uncle’s wife, but thankfully she hardly ever had to be around the woman. She didn’t care what Carmela’s problem was tonight. She just wanted to go back to her room and get out of this awful dress. She’d curl up with a book or something inane on television and try to forget the humiliations of the day.

But, before she could find her grandmother, the music suddenly died and the crowd parted as if Moses himself were standing there.

Everyone turned to look at Lia. She shrank instinctively under the scrutiny, her heart pounding. Was this yet another ploy of Carmela’s to embarrass her? Did she really have to endure another scene? What had she ever done to the woman?

But it wasn’t Carmela who caught her attention. It was Rosa. Carmela’s daughter stood there, her face pale, her eyes fixed on her mother’s face.

“That’s right,” Carmela said gleefully, her voice rising over the sudden silence of the gathered crowd, “Benito Corretti is your father, not Carlo! That one is your sister,” she spat, pointing a red-tipped finger at Lia as if she were a particularly loathsome bug. “Be thankful you did not turn out like her. She’s useless—fat and mousy and weak!”

Rosa looked stricken. Lia’s heart stuttered in her chest. She had a sister? She wasn’t close with her three half-brothers. She wasn’t close with anyone. But a sister?

She’d never had anyone, not really. She’d often longed for a sister, someone she might get to know in a way she couldn’t get to know brothers. Her three half-brothers had one another. Plus they were men. A sister, however—that felt different somehow.

A surge of hope flooded her then. Perhaps she wasn’t really alone in this family, after all. She had a sister.

A sister who was every bit as lost at this moment as Lia had been her entire life. She could see it on Rosa’s face, and she wanted to help. It was the one thing she had to offer that she knew was valuable. But suddenly, Rosa was storming away from Carmela, coming across the room straight for Lia. She reached out instinctively to comfort her when she came near. But Rosa didn’t stop. The look she gave Lia could have frozen lava. Lia’s heart cracked as Rosa shoved her hands away with a growled, “Don’t!”

A throb of pain ricocheted through her chest where her heart had been. Rejection was nothing new to her, but the freshness of it in the face of her hope was almost too much. She stood there for long moments after Rosa had gone, aware of the eyes upon her.

Aware of the pity.

Soon, before she could think of a single pithy remark, the crowd turned away, their attention waning. Self-loathing flooded her. No wonder Rosa hadn’t wanted her comfort. She was so pitiful. So naive.

How many times had she let her heart open? How many times had she had the door slammed in her face? When was she going to learn to guard herself better?

Shame and anger coiled together inside her belly. Why couldn’t she be decisive? Brave? Why did she care how they treated her?

Why couldn’t she just tell them all to go to hell the way her mother would have done?

Grace Hart had been beautiful, perfect, a gorgeous movie star who’d been swept off her feet by Benito Corretti. She’d had no problem handling the Correttis, until she’d accidentally driven her car off a cliff and left Benito a lonely widower with a baby. Soon after that, Benito had sent Lia to live with Salvatore and Teresa.

She knew why he’d done it. Because she wasn’t beautiful and perfect like her mother. Because she was shy and awkward and lacking in the most basic graces. She’d grown up on the periphery, watching her cousins and half-siblings from a distance. Wanting her father’s love but getting only cool silence.

No, she wasn’t beautiful and perfect, and she wasn’t decisive. She hated crowds, and she hated pretending she fit in when everyone knew she didn’t. She was a failure.

She wanted to go home, back to her small cottage at Salvatore and Teresa’s country estate, back to her books and her garden. She loved getting her fingers in the dirt, loved creating something beautiful from nothing more than soil and water and seeds. It gave her hope somehow that she wasn’t as inconsequential as she always felt.

Useless. Fat and mousy and weak.

Lia turned and fled through the same door Rosa had stormed out of. This was it. The final straw in her long, tortured life as a Corretti. She was finished pretending to fit in.

She meant to go to her room, but instead she marched out through the courtyard and found herself standing in front of the swimming pool.

There was no one in it tonight. The hotel had been overrun with wedding guests, and they were all at the reception. The air was hot, and the blue water was so clear, the pool lit from below with soft lights. For a moment Lia thought of jumping in with her dress on. It would ruin the stupid thing, but she hardly cared.

She stood there for a long time, hot feelings swelling within her. She wanted to be decisive. Brave. She wanted to make her own decisions, and she didn’t want to let anyone make her feel inferior or unneeded ever again.

She took a step closer to the edge of the pool, staring down into the depths of the water. It would ruin her dress, her shoes, her hair.

So what?

For the first time in a long time, she was going to do what she wanted. She was going to step into the pool and ruin her dress, and she damn well didn’t care. She was going to wash away the pain of the day and emerge clean. A new, determined Lia.

Before she could change her mind, she kicked off her shoes and stepped over the edge, letting the water take her down. It closed over her head so peacefully, shutting out all the sounds from above. Shutting out the pain and anger, the humiliation of this day.

She didn’t fight it, didn’t kick or struggle. She was a strong swimmer, and she wasn’t afraid. She just let the water take her down to the bottom, where everything was still. She’d only sit here a moment, and then she’d kick to the top again.

Above her, she heard some kind of noise. And then the water rippled as someone leaped into the pool with her. It annoyed her. She wasn’t finished being quiet and still.

Guests from the reception, no doubt. Drunk and looking for a good time.

Lia started to kick upward again, her solace interrupted now. She would get out of the pool and drag her sodden body back to her room. But her dress was heavier than she’d thought, twisting around her legs and pulling her back down again.

She kicked harder, but got nowhere. And then she realized with a sinking feeling that the suction of the drain had trapped part of her skirt. Panic bloomed inside her as she kicked harder.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She couldn’t cry for help, couldn’t do anything but try to rip herself out of the pink mess.

The dress didn’t want to come off. Her lungs ached. Any minute and they would burst.

She kicked harder—but she was caught by her own folly.

No, by Carmela’s folly, she thought numbly. Carmela’s folly of a dress. Wouldn’t everyone laugh when they discovered her bloated body in the pool tomorrow?

Poor, pitiful, stupid Lia. She’d been decisive, all right. She’d made a decision that was going to kill her. She wondered if her mother had thought the same thing in those seconds when her car had hung suspended over the cliffs before plunging onto the rocks below… .

CHAPTER TWO

LIA WOKE SLOWLY. She coughed, her throat and chest aching as she did so. She remembered being in the pool, remembered her dress getting caught. She pushed herself up on an elbow. She was in a darkened room. She sat upright, and the sheet slid down her body. How had she gotten out of the pool? And why was she naked? She didn’t remember going back to her room, didn’t remember anything but that last moment where she’d thought of the Correttis finding her pink-clad body trapped at the bottom of the pool.

She pushed the sheet back, intending to get out of the bed, but a movement in the darkness arrested her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep male voice said.

Lia grabbed the sheet and yanked it back up. How long had he been standing there?

“Who are you? And why are you in my room?”

His laugh was dry. “I’m Zach. And you’re in my room, sugar.”

Sugar. “You’re American,” she said, her heart thumping steadily. The same American as earlier?

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“You sound disappointed.”

She shook her head, stopping when her brain couldn’t quite keep up. She felt light-headed, as if she’d been drinking, when she hadn’t had more than a single glass of champagne all evening.

“How did I get here?”

“I carried you.”

“Impossible,” she scoffed. She was tall and awkward and fat. He couldn’t have done it without a cart and a team of horses to pull her.

“Clearly not,” he told her. “Because you’re here.”

“But why?” The last thing she remembered was water and darkness.

Wait, that wasn’t right. There’d also been light, a hard surface under her back and the scalding taste of chlorine in her throat.

“Because you begged me not to call anyone when I pulled you out of the pool.”

She vaguely recalled it. She remembered that she’d been worried about anyone seeing her, about them laughing and pointing. About Carmela standing there, slim arms folded, evil face twisted in a smirk, nodding and laughing … fat and mousy and weak.

“It was the only thing you said. Repeatedly,” he added, and Lia wanted to hide.

She put a hand to her head. Her hair was still damp, though not soaked. And she was naked. Utterly, completely naked. Her face flamed.

He sat beside her on the bed, holding out a glass of water. “Here, take this,” he said, his voice gentle.

She looked up, met his gaze—and her heart skipped several beats in a row. It was the same man. He had dark eyes, a hard jaw and the beginnings of a scruff where he hadn’t shaved in hours. His hair was cropped short, almost military style, and his lips were just about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life.

She took the water and drank deeply, choking when she’d had too much. He grabbed the glass and set it aside, no doubt ready to pound her on the back if she needed it. She held a hand up, stopping him before he could do so.

“I’m fine,” she squeaked out. “Thank you.”

He sat back and watched her carefully. “Are you certain?”

She looked at him again—and realized his expression was full of pity. Pity! It was almost more than she could bear to have one more person look at her like that tonight.

“Yes.”

“You were lucky tonight,” he said, his voice hardening. “Next time, there might not be anyone to pull you out.”

She knew he was trying to say something important, but she was too weary to figure out what it was. And then his meaning hit her.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” she protested. “It was an accident.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I saw you step into the water. You just decided to go swimming while fully dressed?”

She dropped her gaze from his. “Something like that.” What would he know of it if she told him the real reason? He was beautiful, perfect. She’d thought they had something in common earlier tonight, but she’d been wrong.

Of course.

She usually was. It disappointed her more than she could say. And made her feel lonelier than ever. This man, whatever his flaws, had nothing in common with her. How could he?

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice turning soft.

“Lia. And I hated my dress, if you must know. That’s why I jumped in the pool.”

His bark of laughter surprised her. “Then why did you buy it in the first place?”

“I didn’t. It was a bridesmaid dress, and it was hideous.”

“Pink is not your color, I’m sorry to say.” His voice was too warm to take offense. “Definitely not.” She was slightly confused, given his reaction to her earlier, and more than a little curious about him. It occurred to her she should be apprehensive to be alone with a strange man, in his room, while she was naked beneath his sheets.

But she wasn’t. Paradoxically, he made her feel safe. As if he would stand between her and the world if she asked him to. It wasn’t true, of course, but it was a nice feeling for the moment.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t save the dress,” he said. “It tore in the drain, and the rest rather disintegrated once I tried to remove it.”

She felt heat creeping into her cheeks again. “You removed everything, I see.”

“Yes, sorry, but I didn’t want you soaking my sheets. Or getting sick from lying around in cold, clammy clothing.”

What did she say to that? Did you like what you saw? Thank you? I hope you weren’t terribly inconvenienced?

Lia cleared her throat and hoped she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt. “Did you find your medal?”

It was the most benign thing she could think of. She’d tucked it into her cleavage when she’d returned to the ballroom. She would regret it if it were lost. Something about it had seemed important to her, even if he’d cast it aside so easily.

“I did.”

“Why did you drop it?” It seemed a harmless topic. Far safer than the subject of her body, no doubt.

“I have my reasons,” he said coolly.

Lia waited, but he didn’t say anything else. “If you intend to throw it away again, I’ll keep it.” She didn’t know where that had come from, but she meant it. It seemed wrong to throw something like that away.

“It’s yours if you want it,” he said after a taut moment in which she thought she saw regret and anger scud across his handsome face.

She sensed there were currents swirling beneath the surface that she just didn’t understand. But she wanted to. “What did you get it for?”

He shoved a hand through his hair. She watched the muscles bunch in his forearm, swallowed. He’d been in a tuxedo the last time she’d seen him, but now he wore a dark T-shirt that clung to the well-defined muscles of his chest and arms, and a pair of faded jeans. His feet, she noted, were bare.

So sexy.

“Flying,” he said.

“Flying? You are a pilot?”

“I was.”

“What happened?” His face clouded, and she realized she’d gone too far. She wanted to know why he’d reacted the way he had in the ballroom, but she could tell she’d crossed a line with her question. Whatever it was caused him pain, and it was not her right to know anything more than she already did.

“Never mind. Don’t answer that,” she told him before he could speak.

He shrugged, as if it were nothing. She sensed it was everything. “It’s no secret. I went to war. I got shot down. My flying days are over.”

He said it with such finality, such bittersweet grace, that it made her ache for him. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” His dark eyes gleamed as he watched her.

“Because you seem sad about it,” she said truthfully. And haunted, if his reaction in the ballroom earlier was any indication. What could happen to make a man react that way? She didn’t understand it, but she imagined he’d been through something terrible. And that made her hurt for him.

He sighed. “I wish I could still fly, yes. But we don’t always get to do what we want, do we?”

Lia shook her head. “Definitely not.”

He leaned forward until she could smell him—warm spice, a hint of chlorine. “What’s your story, Lia?”

She licked her lips. “Story?”

“Why are you here? What do you regret?”

She didn’t want to tell him she was a Corretti. Not yet. If he were here at the wedding, he was someone’s guest. She just didn’t know whose guest he was. And she didn’t want to know. Somehow, it would spoil everything.

“I was a bridesmaid,” she said, shrugging.

“And what do you regret?” His dark eyes were intent on hers, and she felt as if her blood had turned to hot syrup in her veins.

“I regret that I agreed to wear that dress,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

He laughed in response, and answering warmth rolled through her. “You’ll never have to wear it again, I assure you.”

“Then I owe you an even bigger debt of gratitude than I thought.”

His gaze dropped, lingered on her mouth. Her breath shortened as if he’d caressed her lips with a finger instead of with his eyes. She found herself wishing he would kiss her more than she’d ever wished for anything.

He sat there for a long minute, his body leaning toward hers even as she leaned toward him. Her heart thrummed as the distance between them closed inch by tiny inch.

Suddenly, he swore and shot up from the bed. A light switched on, and she realized he’d gone to the desk nearby. The light was low, but it still made her blink against the sudden intrusion into her retinas.

“You don’t owe me anything.” His voice was rough, and it scraped over her nerve endings. Made her shiver.

She blinked up at him. He stood there with his hands shoved in his pockets, watching her. A lock of hair fell across her face, and she pushed it back, tucking it behind her ear.

Zach’s gaze sharpened. He watched her with such an intense expression on his face. But she couldn’t decide what he was feeling. Desire? Irritation? Disdain?

Dio, she was naive. She hated it. She imagined Rosa would have known what to do with this man. Lia wished she could talk to her sister, ask her advice—but how silly was that? Rosa was as estranged from her as she’d ever been. This new connection between them meant nothing to Rosa.

Lia’s hair fell across her face again and she combed her fingers through it, wincing at how tangled it was. She would need a lot of conditioner to get this mess sorted.

She looked up at Zach, and her heart stopped beating. His expression was stark, focused—and she realized that the sheet had slipped down to reveal the curve of a breast. Her first instinct was to yank the fabric up again.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

The air seemed to grow thicker between them. He didn’t move or speak. Neither did she. It was as if time sat still, waiting for them.

“Are you staying in the hotel?” Zach asked abruptly, and the bubble of yearning pulsing between them seemed to pop.

Lia closed her eyes and tried to slow her reckless heart. “I am,” she told him.

What did she know of desire, other than what she’d read in romance novels? Her experience of men was limited to a few awkward dates to please her grandmother. She’d been kissed—groped on one memorable occasion—but that was the sum total of her sexual experience. Whatever had been going on here, she was certain she had it wrong. Zach did not want her.

Which he proved in the next few seconds. He turned away and pulled open a drawer. Then he threw something at her.

“Get dressed. I’ll take you back to your room.”

Embarrassment warred with anger as her fingers curled into the fabric of a white T-shirt. “This will hardly do the job,” she said, turning to self-deprecation when what she really wanted to do was run back to her room and hide beneath the covers. Fat and mousy and weak.

“Put it on and I’ll get a robe from the closet.”

Lia snorted in spite of herself. “The walk of shame without the shame. How droll.”

He moved closer, his gaze sharpening again, and her heart pounded. “And is that what you want, Lia? Shame?”

Between the horrendous dress she’d had to wear while people stared and pointed, to the very public brush-off she’d had from Rosa, she’d had enough shame today to last her for a while.

Lia shrugged lightly, though inside she felt anything but light. She was wound tight, ready to scream, but she wouldn’t. Not until she was back in her room and could bury her face in the pillow first.

“A figure of speech,” she said. “Now turn around if you want me to put this on.”

He hesitated for a long moment. But then he did as she said, and she dropped the sheet and tugged the shirt into place. It was bigger than she’d thought, but she still had her doubts it would cover her bottom when she stood. She scooted to the edge of the bed and put her legs over the side.

She stood gingerly. Her head swam a little, but she was mostly fine. The shirt barely covered her bottom, but it managed.

“I’ll take that robe now,” she said imperiously.

Zach walked over to the closet and pulled out a white, fluffy Corretti Hotel robe. Then he turned and brought it back to her, his gaze unreadable as he handed it over. He did a good job of keeping his eyes locked on hers—

But then they dropped, skimming over her breasts—which tingled in response, the nipples tightening beneath his gaze—then farther down to the tops of her naked thighs, before snapping back to her face. His eyes glittered darkly, and a sharp feeling knifed into her.

If she were a brave woman, a more experienced woman, she’d close the distance between them and put her arms around his neck.

But she wasn’t, and she didn’t. She was just a silly virgin standing here in a man’s T-shirt and wishing he would take her in his arms and kiss her.

Lia shrugged into the robe and tied it tight around her waist. “Thank you for your help, but there’s no need for you to come with me. I can find my own way back to my room.”

“I insist,” he said, taking her elbow in a light but firm grip.

She pulled away. “And I’d rather you didn’t.”

“It’s nonnegotiable, sugar.”

Something snapped inside her then. Lia lifted her chin. She was so very tired of people telling her what to do. Of not being taken seriously or respected in any way. She was tired enough of it that she was done putting up with it.

This day, as they say, had been the last straw.

Lia plopped down on the edge of the bed and performed her first overt act of defiance as she crossed one leg over the other and said, “I suppose I’m staying here, then.”

Zach fought the urge to grind his teeth. It was everything he could do not to push her back on the bed and untie that robe. His body was painfully hard. Lia tossed her hair again—that hot, tangled mess that was somehow sexier than any polished style could have been—and Zach suppressed the groan that wanted to climb up his throat.

Nothing about this woman was typical. She wasn’t afraid of him, she didn’t seem to want to impress him and she’d jumped into a pool fully clothed because she hated her dress. And now she sat there glaring at him because he was trying to be a gentleman—for once in his life—and make sure she got back to her room safely.

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and he fought the urge to go to her, to tunnel his fingers into the thick mass of her auburn hair and lift her mouth to his.

That was what she needed, damn it—a hot, thorough, commanding kiss.

Hell, she needed more than that, but he wasn’t going to do any of it. No matter that she seemed to want him to.

And why not?

Tonight, he was a man who’d dragged a drowning woman from a pool, a man who hadn’t had sex in so long he’d nearly forgotten what it was like. He wasn’t a senator’s son or an all-American hero. He wasn’t a broken and battered war vet. He was just a man who was interested in a woman for the first time in a long time.

More than interested. His body had been hard from the moment he’d stripped her out of that sodden pink dress, her creamy golden skin and dusky pink nipples firing his blood. He’d tried not to look, tried to view the task with ruthless efficiency, but her body was so lush and beautiful that it would take a man made of stone not to react.

Holy hell.

She stared at him defiantly, her chin lifting, and he had an overwhelming urge to master her. To push her back on the bed, peel open that robe and take what he wanted. Would she be as hot as those smoldering eyes seemed to say she would? Would she burn him to a crisp if he dared to give in to this urgent need?

“If you stay, you might get more than you bargained for,” he growled. Because he was primed, on edge, ready to explode. It had been so long since he’d felt desire that to feel it now was a huge adrenaline rush.

Like flying.

“I’ve already had more than I bargained for today,” she said hotly, color flooding her cheeks. “I’ve had to parade around in front of everyone in a hideous dress that made me look even fatter than I am. I’ve had to endure the whispers and stares, the laughter, the humiliation.”

Zach blinked. Fat? No way. But of course she would think so. Women always did, unless they happened to be about five-six and weighed one hundred pounds. This one was taller than that, about five eight or so, and stacked with curves. She wasn’t willowy. And she damn sure wasn’t fat.

She choked out a laugh. “I also found out I have a sister—of course, she wants nothing to do with me—and on top of all of that, I finally did something daring and jumped in the pool fully clothed, only to nearly drown.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, and he knew she was hovering on the edge of tears. “And then I wake up here, with you, completely naked—”

He thought she was going to cry, but she got to her feet suddenly, her eyes blazing, her chin thrusting in the air, though he could see that it still trembled. Her hands were fists at her sides.

“Even then, the only reaction I arouse in you is pity. I’m naked in front of a man and all he thinks about is the quickest way to get rid of me—so you will excuse me if I fail to cower before this latest pronouncement!”

Zach could only stare at her, mesmerized. He’d have sworn she was going to cry, sworn she would blubber and fall apart—but she hadn’t. She was staring at him now, two high red spots on her cheeks, her dark auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes flashing fire. The robe had slipped open a bit, exposing the inside of a creamy thigh.

Lust flooded him until he had to react or explode. He meant to turn away, meant to put distance between them. Hell, he meant to walk out of the room and not come back—

But instead, he closed the distance between them, gripped her shoulders as he bent toward her.

“Pity is the last thing I feel for you, Lia,” he grated, still determined in some part of his brain to push her away before it was too late.

But then he tugged her closer, until she pressed against him, until she’d have to be stupid not to know what he was thinking about right now.

She gasped, and a skein of hot need uncoiled within him.

“Does this feel like pity?” he growled, his hands sliding down to grip her hips and pull her fully into him.

Her eyes grew large in her lovely face, liquid. For the barest of moments, he thought she seemed too innocent, too sweet. But then she reached up and put a palm to his cheek. Her thumb ghosted over his lips. He couldn’t suppress a shudder of longing.

“No,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It doesn’t.”

He thought there was a note of wonder in her voice, but he ignored it and pressed on, sliding a hand around to cup her round bottom. She wasn’t fat, the stupid woman. She was curvaceous, with generously proportioned boobs and hips that other women could only envy.

“Is this what you want, Lia?” he asked, dipping his head, sliding his lips along her cheek in surrender to the hot feelings pounding through him.

Her only answer was a soft gasp. Desire scorched into him, hammered in his veins. He’d wanted her to go back to her room, wanted to remove the temptation when he had no idea what might happen if he had sex with her, but now that she was in his arms, sending her away had suddenly become impossible.

Her arms went around his neck, and he shuddered. She should be frightened of him after what had happened in the ballroom, but she showed no fear whatsoever. Then again, he had been the one to pull her from the water. Perhaps that redeemed him somewhat in her eyes.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked against the soft skin of her throat.

“I’m only afraid you’ll stop,” she said, and he squeezed her to him in reaction as emotions overwhelmed him.

He wanted to tell her not to trust him, wanted to tell her to run far and fast, that he could give her nothing more than a night of passion. He wanted to, but he couldn’t find the voice right now. Not when what he so desperately wanted to do was slide his tongue into her mouth and see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.

Zach drew back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes fanning her cheekbones, and her pink lips parted on a sigh. She arched her body into his and heat streaked through him. It had been so long. Too long …

He shouldn’t do this. He really shouldn’t. He didn’t know this woman at all.

But it felt like he did. Like he’d known her for ages.

With a groan, Zach fell headlong into temptation.

CHAPTER THREE

AS ZACH’S MOUTH came down on hers, Lia’s first thought was to freeze. Her second was to melt into his kiss. She’d been kissed before, but nothing like this. Nothing with this kind of heat or raw passion. He wanted her. He really wanted her. This was not a dream, or a fever, or an illusion. This was a man—a hot, mysterious, dangerous man—and he wanted her, Lia Corretti.

His tongue slid against hers, and she shivered with longing. She didn’t really know what she was doing—but she knew how it was supposed to feel, how she was supposed to react.

And she had no problem reacting. Lia arched into him, met his tongue eagerly, if somewhat inexpertly. She just hoped he didn’t realize it.

The kiss was hot, thrilling, stomach-churning in a good way. Her body ached with the sudden need to feel more than this. To feel everything.

She knew she shouldn’t be doing this with him. Wanting this. But she did.

Oh, how she did.

To hell with what she was supposed to do. To hell with feeling unwanted and unloved and unattractive. What was she waiting for? Who was she waiting for?

Zach made her feel beautiful, desirable. She wanted to keep feeling that way.

When Zach loosened the robe, her heartbeat spiked. But she didn’t stop him. She had no intention of stopping him. When would she ever get another chance to feel this way? Eligible men weren’t exactly thick on the ground in her grandparents’ village.

And even if they were, they’d have been unlikely to risk Salvatore Corretti’s wrath by sleeping with his granddaughter out of wedlock.

Zach’s warm hand slid along her bare thigh, up beneath the T-shirt he’d loaned her. His touch felt like silk and heat and she only wanted more. She shifted against him, felt the evidence of his arousal. He was hard, thick, and her body reacted with a surge of moisture between her thighs.

A sliver of fear wormed its way through her happiness. Was she really going to do this? Was she really going to have sex for the first time with an American whose last name she didn’t even know? Was she going to keep pretending like she knew what she was doing even though she didn’t?

Yes.

Yes, most definitely. Today was a new day for Lia Corretti. She was finally going to be brave and decisive and in control of her own destiny. No one would force her to wear an ugly pink dress—or call her fat, mousy and weak—in front of hundreds of people ever again.

The robe fell from her shoulders and then Zach swept her up into his arms. She gasped at his strength as he put a knee on the bed and laid her back on the mattress. And then she froze as he came down on top of her, his jeans-clad body so much bigger than hers.

He must have felt her hesitation because he lifted his head, his dark eyes searching hers. “If you don’t want this, Lia—”

She put her fingers over his mouth to stop him from uttering another word. “I do,” she said. And then she told a lie. “But it’s been a long time and I—I …”

The words died on her lips. Surely he would see right through her, see to the heart of her deception. She had no experience at all, and he would be angry when he figured that out. And then he would send her away.

He pulled her hand from his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm. “It’s been a long time for me, as well.” She must have looked doubtful, because he laughed softly. “Cross my heart, Lia. It’s the truth.”

She lifted a trembling hand to trace her fingers over his firm, sensuous lips. She barely knew him, and yet she felt as if she’d known him forever. But what if she disappointed him somehow? What if this was nothing like she’d read in novels?

“But you are so beautiful,” she said.

He laughed, and she realized she’d spoken aloud. Heat flooded her. Oh, how simple she was sometimes!

“And so are you,” he said, dipping his head to drop kisses along the column of her throat.

“You don’t have to say that.” She gasped as his tongue swirled in the hollow at the base of her throat. “I’m already in your bed.”

“I never say things I don’t mean.” He lifted his head, his mouth curling in a wicked grin. “Besides, you’re forgetting that I’ve already seen everything. And I approve, Lia. I definitely approve.”

She didn’t get a chance to reply because his hands spanned her hips and pushed the T-shirt upward, over her breasts, baring her to his sight.

“Still perfect,” he said, and then he took one of her nipples in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hard little point while she worked so hard not to scream.

She’d had no idea it would feel like this. No idea that a man’s mouth on her breast could send such sweet, aching pleasure shooting into her core. Her sex throbbed with heat and want, and her hands clutched his head, held him to her when she feared he would leave.

He did not. He only moved his attentions to her other breast, and Lia thought she would die from the sensations streaking through her. How had she missed out on this for so many years? How had she missed so much living?

Zach’s tongue traced the underside of her breast, and then he was moving down, kissing a hot trail over her stomach. She was torn between anticipation and embarrassment that he could see the soft jiggle of her flesh. Why hadn’t she insisted on turning out the light?

But then his tongue slid along the seam of her sex and she forgot everything but him. Lia cried out, unable to help herself. Never had she imagined how good this could feel, how perfect.

He circled her clitoris with his tongue, growing ever closer, until he finally touched her right where all those nerves concentrated. Lia stopped breathing. Her body clenched tighter and tighter as he focused his attention on that single spot. She wanted to reach the peak so badly, and she never wanted it to end, either.

She tried to hold out, tried to make it last, but Zach was far too skilled at making her body sing for him. Lia exploded in a shower of molten sparks, his name on her lips.

She turned her head into the pillow, embarrassed, gasping, trying to gather the shards of herself back together again. What had he done to her? How had he made her lose control so quickly, so thoroughly?

She felt Zach move and she turned to look at him. He stood beside the bed, tugging off his clothes. He looked fierce, and her heart thrummed at the intensity on his face. She had no idea what she should be doing, but she didn’t think she could go wrong by trying to help him remove his clothes. She sat up and started unbuckling his belt while he ripped his shirt over his head.

“Just a minute,” he said, turning and disappearing into the adjoining bathroom for a second. When he returned, he was holding a condom package that bore the Corretti Hotel logo. She nearly laughed. Leave it to Matteo to think of everything in his hotels.

Zach’s jeans disappeared, and Lia’s breath caught at the sheer beauty of his body. He was hard, muscular—but he was also scarred. There was a long red scar that ran along his thigh, and a smaller round scar near his rib cage. Emotion welled inside her as she realized what it was: a bullet wound. She wanted to ask him what had happened, but he knelt between her thighs and rolled on the condom—and all thoughts of bullet wounds fled from her head as her breath shortened at the knowledge of what came next.

He bent and took her mouth with his, stoking the fire inside her instantaneously. When he stretched out over the top of her, she could think of nothing but how perfect this felt, how amazing to be naked beneath a man, his body stretched over hers, dominating hers in all the right ways.

Lia wrapped her legs around his waist, arched her body into him, her hands sliding down his back until she could grip his buttocks. It was natural, instinctual, and she gloried in the sound of approval he made in his throat.

She wanted to explore him, wanted to remember this night forever. But the fire between them was too urgent to go slowly. Lia gasped as she felt the head of his penis at her entrance. She knew this would hurt. What she didn’t know was how badly.

Zach reached between them and stroked her. “Are you ready, Lia?” he whispered. “Or have you changed your mind? Last chance to say so.”

Lia loved that he would ask. Now, like this, with his body poised to enter hers, he stopped to ask if she still wanted him. Part of her wanted him to stop. Part of her was terrified.

Brave. She nibbled his earlobe between her teeth, felt a ribbon of satisfaction wind through her at the soft growl he emitted. She was brave.

There was no other answer she could give except yes. Her body was on fire, humming from the way he touched her, the way he made her ache for more.

“Please,” she said, the only word she could manage. It came out sounding like a sob. Zach stilled for the briefest second—and then he was sliding forward, his body entering hers.

She tensed when there was a slight resistance, but it didn’t last. Zach’s eyes clouded as he looked down at her, as if he were thinking, but then she shifted her hips, and he groaned softly. He was fully inside her now, his length stretching her in ways she’d never experienced before.

It was the most astonishing feeling. She arched her hips upward, gasping as sensation streaked through her.

“Lia, you make me forget—” She didn’t know what else he planned to say because he took her mouth then, kissing her hard, urgently, his tongue sliding against hers so hotly.

They lay like that for a long moment, kissing deeply, their bodies connected and still.

Then he began to move, slowly at first, and then faster as she took everything he had to give and asked for more. The air between them shimmered with heat, with power.

Everything about making love was foreign to her—and yet it wasn’t. She felt as if she’d always known how it would be, as if she’d only been waiting for him to take her on this sensual journey.

As they moved together, as their bodies lifted and separated and came together again, she could feel something just out of reach, something wonderful and shattering and necessary. She strained toward it, needing it, trying to catch it—

And then, with a gasp of wonder, she did.

“Yes,” he told her, his breath hot in her ear as he threaded his fingers through hers and held her hands over her head, “like that. Just like that, Lia.”

Lia sobbed as she flew out over the abyss. And then her breath caught hard in her chest before it burst from her again in a long, loud cry, her senses splintering on the rocks below. Zach captured her mouth, swallowed her cries as she moaned and gasped again and again.

Soon, he followed her over the edge, gripping her hips and lifting her to him as he found his own release. He gave her cries back to her then, and she drank them in greedily, until the only thing that remained was the sound of their breathing.

Zach moved first, lifting himself up and rolling away from her. Lia lay stunned at the intensity of the experience. Like a slow drip from a faucet, uncertainty began to erode the surface of her languor.

What happened now? Did she thank him for the good time, put on the robe and leave? Or did she roll over and run her fingers over the smooth muscle of his abdomen?

She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to touch him again. Explore him when her body was calm and still.

But she was paralyzed with indecision. And then Zach decided for her. He didn’t say anything as he got up and walked into the bathroom. Lia’s heart performed a slow dive into her belly. They’d had sex, and he was finished.

She scrambled up and grabbed the robe, slipping it on and swinging her legs over the side of the bed before he returned. Before she’d gone three steps, he walked out again.

Both of them crashed to a halt, staring at each other.

He was, she thought with a pang, beyond gorgeous. Beautifully, unconsciously naked. Tall and dark, packed with muscle that flexed and popped with his every movement. He looked like something she’d dreamed up instead of a flesh-and-blood man she’d really just had sex with.

Dio, she’d just had sex… .

“Zach—”

“Lia—”

They spoke at the same time, their voices clashing. Lia dropped her gaze to the floor.

“Are you hungry?” Zach asked, and she looked up to see him watching her, a half smile on his handsome face. She couldn’t keep her eyes from roaming his perfect body, no matter how she tried to focus solely on his face.

“Not that kind of hungry,” he added with a laugh. “Though I’m definitely game for another round later.”

Another round. Oh, my … Her insides thrummed with electricity at the thought.

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” she managed, her pulse thumping at the idea of doing it all again. And again.

Zach walked over to the desk and picked up the menu there. “Any suggestions?” he asked.

She had to struggle to concentrate. She knew what was on the menu without looking, but she could hardly think of food when Zach stood naked before her.

“Some antipasti, a little pasta alla Norma, some wine. It is all good,” she finally managed, knowing that her brother would serve nothing but the best in his hotel.

“And dessert,” Zach said, grinning. “Let’s not forget dessert.” He picked up the phone and ordered in flawless Italian—adding cannoli and fresh strawberries to the list—while Lia went into the bathroom to freshen up.

Her reflection surprised her. She’d thought she would look different—and, indeed, she did in a way. She looked like the cat that’d gotten into the cream. Yes, it was a terrible cliché, but it was truly the best way to describe that look of supreme satisfaction. Her skin glowed and her eyes were bright. Her lips were shockingly rosy and plump.

From kissing Zach. Her stomach flipped hard, and she wondered if she’d be able to eat a bite when he sat there with her, looking so tempting and yummy.

Lia forced herself to focus. She used the comb on the vanity to smooth her wild tangle of hair—as much as possible anyway—and wiped away the mascara that had smudged beneath her eyes. Then, heart pounding, she returned to Zach’s suite. He’d pulled on his jeans and sat in a chair by the window, staring at the screen of his smart phone. When he realized she was there, he put the phone on the table.

His gaze was sharp, hot, and her skin began to prickle.

“Your Italian is perfect,” she said, casting about for something innocuous to say. Something that would give these butterflies in her belly a chance to settle again. “Where did you learn it?”

“My grandfather was from Sicily,” he said. “And I learned it from my mother. She refused to teach me the Sicilian dialect her father spoke, but she did teach me Italian.”

Her gaze slid over him again. Now that she knew he had Sicilian blood in him, she could see it. He had the hot, dark eyes of a Sicilian. “Then you have been to Sicily before, yes?”

He inclined his head. “But not for many years.”

She went and perched on the edge of the sofa, facing him. His gaze slid over her, warmed her in ways she hadn’t known were possible before tonight. “You are friends with the bride’s family or the groom’s?”

He laughed. “Neither. I came with a friend.” He picked up the phone again and frowned as he glanced at the screen. “I can’t seem to find her, though.”

Her. Lia swallowed as her stomach turned inside out. Of course a man who looked like this one was not alone. But where was his girlfriend, and why hadn’t she come searching for him? If it were Lia, she wouldn’t let him out of her sight.

But now she needed to do just that. Lia stood. “I should go,” she said. “It’s late, and you must be tired… .”

Words failed her. She turned away, blindly, fighting a sudden rush of ridiculous tears. But then he was there, a hand wrapping around her arm, pulling her back against him so that she could feel the hot press of his body through the robe.

“Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said stiffly.

His mouth was on her hair, her temple. “I’m not here with another woman, Lia. Not like that. Taylor is a friend, and she’s here to work.”

“Taylor Carmichael?” Lia knew of only one Taylor who would be in Sicily to work right now, and that was the gorgeous former child star. She’d heard her grandmother talking about Santo’s film, and the troubled woman who was slated to star in it.

She heard Zach sigh. And then he turned her in his arms, put his hands on either side of her face and held her so he could look into her eyes. “Yes, Taylor Carmichael. Yes, she’s beautiful and desirable—but not to me. We’ve only ever been friends. She’s the sister I never had.”

Lia bit her lip. It was almost impossible to believe that two such gorgeous creatures weren’t sleeping together. “I think you need glasses, Zach.”

He laughed. “Hardly. I know when I have a beautiful woman in my arms.”

Lia flushed with pleasure. She’d never felt beautiful. Until tonight. Oh, she still worried that she was too fat and too awkward, but she could hardly deny the evidence of his desire for her. She was quite a good dreamer, but she had definitely not dreamed what had happened in his bed only minutes ago.

What she hoped would happen again.

She closed her eyes. One time with him, and she was already becoming a woman of questionable morals.

He tipped her chin up with a long finger and pressed his lips to hers. Desire, so recently sated, still managed to lift a head and send a finger of need sliding down the pathways of her nervous system.

She stepped closer, her lips parting beneath his … and the kiss slid over the edge of polite and into the realm of hot and amazing. He was in the process of shoving the robe off her shoulders when there was a knock on the door.

He took a step back, breaking the kiss, and tugged the robe into place with a sigh of regret. “Food first,” he said with a wicked smile. “And then we play.”

Lia could only shudder in response.

They spent the night entangled together, their bodies craving the pleasure they found in each other. Lia learned more about sex, about her own body, than she’d dreamed possible.

They showered together in the morning, and then spent the day walking around Palermo, ducking into churches and restaurants, stopping in ancient alleys to kiss and touch, drinking espresso and eating pasta.

It was a perfect day, followed by another perfect evening. They were strangers, and not strangers. It was as if they’d known each other forever. Zach’s smile made her heart throb painfully whenever he turned it on her. His laugh had the power to make her ache with raw hunger.

They talked, in Italian and in English, about endless things. She confessed that she was a Corretti. Zach didn’t seem to care, other than a brief lifting of the eyebrows as he connected her to the hotel owners.

She discovered that Zach lived in Washington, D.C., and that he’d met Taylor Carmichael at a clinic for military veterans. She didn’t ask about his scars because he’d grown tight-lipped when he’d told her that much.

They returned to the hotel, to his room, and spent the entire night wrapped in each other once more. He left the balcony doors open so that a breeze from the sea blew in. Church bells chimed the hour, every hour, but sanctuary was in this room, this bed.

And yet it was ending. They both knew it. Lia had to return to her grandparents’ estate, and Zach was going back to the States. He’d heard from Taylor, finally, and she’d told him everything was fine, though she was somehow now engaged to Lia’s brother Luca. Zach didn’t seem too happy about that, but he’d accepted it after they’d talked a bit longer.

He did not, Lia noticed, tell Taylor about her.

Yet she kept hoping for more, for some sign this meant more to him than simply sex. It had to. She couldn’t be the only one affected by this thing between them. Could she?

But when she awoke early the next morning, Zach was gone. She hadn’t heard a thing. His suitcase was gone, everything in the bathroom, everything that indicated he’d once been here.

All that remained was a single rose in a vase and a hastily scribbled note propped beside it. She snatched it up and opened it. The military medal fell out and hit the floor with a plink.

Lia’s pulse throbbed as she read the note.

Be well, Lia.

Her heart crumpled beneath the weight of those words. Words that meant well, but ultimately meant nothing. She retrieved the medal, and then sank onto the bed and lifted his pillow to her face. It still smelled like him and she breathed it in, seeking calm.

Zach was gone, and she was alone once more. Like always.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE EVENING WAS hot and muggy, and Zach stood off to one side of the crowd gathered at the country club. He took a sip from his water glass, cleverly disguised as a mixed drink by the addition of a lime slice and a cocktail stirrer, and then set it on a passing tray.

He never drank at functions like this. It was something he’d learned growing up. Always keep your head and always be prepared for any eventuality. His father hadn’t made a career in politics out of being imprudent, and Zach had learned the lesson well.

These days, however, he was less concerned with the good impression than he was with the opportunity to escape. Once he’d done his duty—made the speech, shook the hands, accepted the honor, cut the ribbon, got the promised funding for the Scott Foundation’s causes—he was gone.

Tonight, he’d had to give a speech. And right now, his father was holding court with a group of people he no doubt hoped would become campaign donors. His mother was circulating with the skill of a career politician’s wife, smiling and making polite small talk.

There were reporters in the room—there were always reporters—but the cameras were thankfully stowed at the moment. They’d come out during his speech, of course, and he’d had to work hard to concentrate on the crowd and not the flashes. A matron came over and started to talk to him. He nodded politely, spoke when necessary and kept his eye on the exit. The second he could excuse himself, he was gone. He’d already been here too long, and he was beginning to feel as if the walls were closing in.

He scanned the crowd out of habit, his gaze landing on a woman who made him think of Sicily. She was standing near the door, her head bowed so he couldn’t see her face. The crowd moved, closing off his view of her. His pulse started to thrum, but of course, she wasn’t Lia Corretti. Lia was in Sicily, no doubt making love to some other lucky bastard. A current of heat slid through him as he remembered her lush body arrayed before him.

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