Anna laughed, too. “You’re not a lawyer, are you?”
He gave a mock shudder. “Dio, no. Why do you ask?”
“Because you have a way with words.”
“It’s what I do,” he said, smiling. “I’m a negotiator.” What better way to describe fashioning deals that made him millions and millions of dollars and euros? “So, do we have a truce?”
He held out his hand. Anna took it—and jerked back. An electric current seemed to flow from his fingers to hers.
“Static electricity,” she said quickly. “Or something.”
“Or something,” he said, and all at once his voice was low and husky.
Their eyes met. His were dark, deep, fathomless. Anna felt her heartbeat stutter. I’m tired, she thought quickly. I must be terribly tired or everything wouldn’t seem so—so—
“Would you like to see the wine list?”
It was the flight attendant, her smile perfect, her voice bright and bubbly, though Anna had to give her credit for not having reacted to the sight of a refugee from coach slipping into the cabin an hour or so before.
“Champagne,” said the man still holding her hand, his gaze never leaving hers. “Unless you’d rather have something else?”
“No,” Anna said quickly. “No, champagne would be lovely.”
“Lovely,” he said, and Anna wondered why she’d ever thought him cold or arrogant.
They drank champagne. In flutes. Glass flutes, not plastic. Switched to red wine, also in glasses, when dinner was served—served on china, with real flatware and real linen napkins.
Being in first class wasn’t bad.
Neither was being with such a gorgeous stranger.
He ordered for them both. Normally Anna would have bristled at a man assuming he could order for her, but tonight it seemed right.
Everything seemed right, she thought as they ate and talked. Conversation flowed easily, not about anything important, just about the weather they’d left behind in New York, how it would compare to the weather they’d find in Rome, about where he lived—in San Francisco, overlooking the bay, he said. And where she lived—in Manhattan, on the lower east side.
For all of that, they didn’t exchange names.
That seemed right, too.
There was something exciting about hurtling through the night at six hundred plus miles an hour, laughing and talking and having dinner with a man she didn’t know and would never see again.
Anything was possible, Anna thought after their dishes had been whisked away and the cabin lights were dimmed. Absolutely anything, she thought, looking at him, and a faint tremor went through her.
“Are you cold?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’m fine.”
“Tired, then.”
“No. Really …”
“Of course you’re tired. I’m sure your day has been as long as mine. In fact, I’m going to put my seat back. You’ll do the same.”
That tone of easy command made Anna laugh. “Do you ever ask a woman what she wants, or do you simply tell her?”
Their eyes met. Her heart did a little stutter step.
“There are times when there is no need to ask,” he said softly.
Heat swept through her. Get up, she thought. Get up and go back to your own seat in the rear of the plane.
But she didn’t.
He reached out. Leaned across her. She caught her breath as he pressed the button that eased her seat all the way back.
“Close your eyes, bellissima,” he whispered. “Get some sleep.”
She nodded. Closing her eyes, pretending to sleep was probably a good plan. No reason to tell him that she never, ever was able to sleep on a plane ….
When she woke, the cabin was almost completely dark.
And she was cocooned in warmth.
Male warmth.
Somehow she was lying in the stranger’s arms, both of them covered by a soft blanket. Her head was on his shoulder, her face buried in the curve where his neck met his shoulder.
He was asleep. She could tell by the deep, slow exhalations of his breath.
Move, she told herself. Anna, for heaven’s sake, shift away from him.
Instead, she shifted closer. Closer. Drew his scent—masculine, musky, clean—deep into her lungs.
Her hand rose. By itself, surely. No way would she have deliberately lifted it, placed it against his jaw, rubbed her fingers lightly over the sexy stubble.
The sound of his breathing changed. Quickened. Her heartbeat quickened, too.
“Hello,” he whispered.
Anna touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. “Hello,” she whispered back.
His arms tightened around her. He turned his face, brought his lips against her palm in a soft kiss.
She heard a sound. Low, urgent …
The sound had come from her.
“I dreamed I was holding you,” he said. His teeth fastened lightly in the tender flesh at the base of her thumb. “And then I awoke, and you were in my arms.”
A tremor went through her. Or perhaps through him. She couldn’t tell. And it didn’t matter. The excitement growing within her was growing within him, too. His heartbeat had quickened. And when she shifted her weight, when she shifted her weight …
Yes. Oh, yes.
He was hard. Fully aroused. And she—dear God, she was, too. She could feel her breasts lift, her nipples bud. And she was wet. So wet …
He kissed her mouth. Her lips parted against his. He groaned; his teeth fastened lightly in the tender flesh of her bottom lip, his tongue stroked across the tiny, exquisite wound and Anna gave a soft, pleading cry.
He murmured something in Italian. She didn’t understand the words but she’d have had to be a fool not to understand their meaning.
His fingers tangled in her hair. Drew her head back. She could barely see his face in the dim light, but what she could see thrilled her—those dark eyes, the bones etched hard and harsh beneath his skin.
“You are playing with
