shiver of excitement ran through her. Common sense urged her to pull herself out of his arms, but she was trapped by the feral gleam in his eyes so that when he lowered his head she sank against him and parted her lips in readiness for his kiss.
Remembering his hot, hungry kisses when he had made love to her after the party, she was unprepared for the soft brush of his mouth on hers. As light as gossamer, he teased her lips apart in a slow, sweet kiss that was utterly beguiling. Rebekah melted into it, her whole being attuned to the exquisite sensations he aroused in her and the thudding drumbeat of desire that pounded in her blood and made her ache for his possession.
This was not keeping him at arm’s length, taunted a voice inside her head. She had promised herself she would not be swayed by his sexy charm. But she had glimpsed the flare of pain in his eyes when he had looked at the photo of his grandmother and her heart had ached for him. He had told her that this was his first visit to Tuscany since his grandmother’s death and she sensed he was still grieving for Perlita.
When she had slept with him two nights ago she had thought she could indulge in a passionate fling with him that would mean nothing to either of them, even though she was scared of her emotions becoming involved. But the discovery that there were depths to Dante she had been unaware of made her afraid that he could pose even more of a threat to her emotions. She could not risk falling for him, and so, calling on all her willpower, she tore her mouth from his and stepped away from him.
‘I guess I should start dinner. It’s getting late,’ she mumbled, flushing beneath his quizzical stare. ‘Although I’ve heard that it is usual in Mediterranean countries for people to have dinner late in the evening,’ she added rather desperately as he continued to regard her with an intentness she found unsettling. ‘But you’re probably hungry,’ she finished lamely.
‘I’m ravenous, but I have a feeling we’re talking about different appetites,’ he said drily.
Dante did not understand why Rebekah had backed off, but the curious half-wary, half-defensive expression in her eyes forced him to control his frustration. She clearly carried a lot of emotional baggage—which meant that she was exactly the sort of woman he usually avoided. So why wasn’t he heading for the hills to get away from her? Why had he brought her to the Casa di Colombe, which was his private sanctuary and a haven of peace? He felt anything but peaceful at the moment, he thought grimly. And, strangely, his frustration was not only on a sexual level. He wanted to know who had put the shadows in her eyes, and conversely he was annoyed with himself for his curiosity when all he wanted was a temporary affair with her.
With an effort he controlled his impatience. ‘I have a few things to do, so why don’t you go and explore the house? The maids should have made up the beds and stocked the kitchen with basic provisions. We can pick up fresh fruit and vegetables at the market in Montalcino tomorrow.’ He pointed down the hallway. ‘You’ll find the kitchen that way.’
From the outside, the house did not look very different from how it must have looked when it had been built and used as a monastery centuries ago. But, inside, the Casa di Colombe had been expertly renovated and turned into a charming, comfortable home. Much love had gone into the interior design of the house, Rebekah thought as she strolled through the airy, sunlit rooms on the ground floor where the old stone floors blended perfectly with the pale walls and elegant furnishings. She remembered the serene face of Dante’s grandmother in the photograph hanging in the hall. Nonna Perlita had left her mark on this house, she mused.
She continued her exploration and fell in love with the kitchen the minute she walked through the door. The terracotta tiled floor, stone walls and pale oak cupboards gave it a rustic charm, but at the same time it was fitted with every piece of modern equipment she could want. It was a perfect setting to take photographs of the recipes she had now perfected for the cookery book, and she was keen to start work. She discovered that the pantry and fridge had been well stocked and she was debating what to cook for dinner when the sound of voices from outside the kitchen window made her glance towards the garden.
Dante was standing with a tall, slim blonde-haired woman wearing very short shorts that revealed her long tanned legs. The woman turned her head and Rebekah saw that she was stunningly beautiful. A tight knot formed in her stomach as she watched the woman laughing with Dante. It was clear they shared a close relationship. Was the blonde his mistress? If so, then why had he insisted on her coming to Tuscany with him? And why on earth did she feel jealous?
Feeling angry with herself, she went to investigate the upper floors of the house. Her suitcase had been left in the hall and she carried it upstairs. There were five bedrooms on the first floor, one of which was obviously the master suite. Next door to Dante’s room, the guest bedroom had been prepared, she assumed, for her. It was a pretty room, with the same neutral-toned walls as the rest of the house and a lemon-yellow bedspread.
The blinds at the window shaded the room from the hot sunshine of a Tuscan summer’s afternoon, but Rebekah still felt too warm in her skirt and jacket. A cool shower was tempting. Taking a shower cap from her case, she walked into the en suite bathroom and emerged ten minutes later to slip into a lightweight floral cotton skirt and T-shirt that she had packed for the trip. She was pulling a comb through her hair when there was a knock on her door, and she spun round to find the woman she had seen in the garden standing in the doorway.
Close up, she was a few years older than Rebekah had thought, perhaps in her early thirties. But, if anything, she was even more stunning than she had looked from a distance, with a model’s slim build, perfect hair, perfect tan—perfect everything, in fact.
‘Hi! You must be Rebekah?’ the woman said in a distinctive American accent. ‘I’m Nicole Sayer … duh …’ she tutted impatiently ‘… Castelli! I’ve only been married for two months and I keep forgetting to use my new name. My husband Vito and I are old friends of Dante’s.’ She finally paused for breath and held out her hand to Rebekah. ‘It’s great to meet you. I was so surprised when Dante phoned and said he was bringing someone to Tuscany with him. He never has before.’ She gave Rebekah a speculative look. ‘I guess the two of you must be good friends.’
Rebekah felt herself blush. ‘Actually, I’m his cook.’ She suddenly remembered why the woman’s name was familiar. ‘You’re a photographer, aren’t you? I’m writing a cookery book based on my grandmother’s recipes, and Dante mentioned that you might take photographs for me.’
Nicole’s smile held genuine warmth. ‘I’d love to. I used to work as a freelance photographer in New York, but now Vito and I have settled in Italy. I’m going to head back to my home in Siena,’ Nicole explained as she turned to walk out of the room, ‘but I’ll be in touch in the next couple of days to arrange a photo shoot.
‘By the way—’ she paused in the doorway ‘—I’ve hung the clothes that Dante ordered for you in the wardrobe.’
Rebekah gave her a puzzled look. ‘What clothes?’
Nicole crossed the room and pulled open the wardrobe door. ‘These,’ she said, indicating the array of outfits hanging from the rail. She took out a beautiful jade-green silk dress and gave Rebekah a teasing smile. ‘You must be a very special cook for Dante to buy you designer clothes.’
Rebekah took a pale pink silk blouse from the rail. All the clothes were classical and elegant, in an array of pretty pastel colours. They were the sort of things she would love to wear if she could afford them.
‘There’s obviously been a mistake,’ she told Nicole. ‘I don’t know why Dante ordered these clothes, but they can’t be for me.’
Nicole looked amused. ‘Maybe he wanted to
