him and urged him to fill her completely.
Afterwards she fell asleep with her head pillowed on his shoulder. But Dante lay awake long into the night, wondering what was happening to him, why making love to Rebekah had left him not only physically fulfilled but relaxed and content in a way he had never felt before. It begged the question—what the hell was happening to him? And more disturbing still was that he did not have an answer.
The hot Tuscan summer days slipped past inexorably, causing Rebekah a little pang when she thought about how many days and nights she had left with Dante. It was easier not to think, easier simply to enjoy his company and the friendship that had grown between them. His desire for her had shown no sign of abating and they made love every night with a passionate intensity that she found utterly irresistible.
‘Okay, I’ve got enough shots.’ Nicole’s voice drew Rebekah from her thoughts. ‘Can we eat now? The sight and smell of the food is making me feel ravenous.’
Rebekah laughed. ‘We’ll hang on for Dante and Vito to finish playing tennis and then we’ll have lunch. Knowing how competitively those two play, I think they’ll have worked up an appetite for Welsh Cawl.’
‘What is it, exactly?’ Nicole asked as she packed away her camera and tripod.
‘It’s a stew made with lamb and leeks and other root vegetables. Traditionally it was cooked in an iron pot over an open fire, but it works just as well cooking it in a casserole dish in the oven.
‘Shall we eat on the terrace?’ Rebekah asked as she collected plates and cutlery. ‘The pergola gives plenty of shade.’ She followed Nicole outside. The courtyard garden was baking, but beneath the pergola covered in grapevines and bright pink bougainvillea, it was slightly cooler.
‘You know, I can’t believe there are only two more recipes to make and photograph before the book is finished,’ she said as she flopped down onto a chair. ‘I’m amazed we’ve done so much in three weeks.’
‘And it’s great that the publishers offered a contract after you sent them the first few pages of recipes.’ Nicole smiled. ‘I can’t wait to see the book in the shops.’
‘I’m looking forward to showing it to my grandmother.’ Rebekah fell silent, her mind turning to Nana, who, according to her mother, was growing increasingly frail.
In one more week she would finish working her period of notice and be able to leave Tuscany and go home to Wales to visit her family. She felt a familiar dull ache in her chest when she contemplated leaving the Casa di Colombe, which she loved, and Dante, who, despite her best intentions, had become a serious threat to her heart.
It was his fault that she was becoming obsessed with him, she thought ruefully, her heart-rate quickening when she caught sight of him strolling back from the tennis courts with Nicole’s husband Vito. Both men were darkly tanned and good-looking but Dante’s height and easy grace and the chiselled perfection of his features made him especially eye-catching—something Rebekah was made aware of whenever they visited the nearby town of Montalcino and he was a magnet for female attention.
Nicole followed the direction of Rebekah’s gaze towards the men and gave her a speculative look. ‘So, what is your relationship with Dante? You can’t kid me any longer that you’re simply his cook.’ She grinned when Rebekah blushed. ‘Don’t get me wrong—I think it’s great if the two of you are involved. I was worried that Lara had scarred him for ever.’
Rebekah stiffened. ‘Who is Lara?’ she asked in a carefully casual voice.
‘Oh—I assumed he had told you …’ The American woman suddenly became evasive. ‘He knew Lara years ago when he was living in New York. That’s where I met him. He was friends with Vito, and then when I started dating Vito we all hung around together.’ In an obvious attempt to change the subject, Nicole said, ‘Why don’t you and Dante come to dinner with us at the weekend? It’s about time I cooked for you for a change.’
‘We can’t this weekend, I’m afraid.’ Dante’s deep voice sounded from behind Rebekah’s shoulder. He dropped into the seat next to her and gave her one of his sexy smiles that made her toes curl. ‘I’m taking Rebekah to Florence for a couple of days.’
‘You are?’ She flashed him a surprised look.
‘Uh-huh. We’ll be staying at a five-star hotel in the heart of the city within walking distance of the Duomo, the Campanile and the Uffizi Gallery, and we’ll eat at some of the best restaurants in the city. I think you deserve a break from cooking.’ His voice dropped to a husky drawl intended for Rebekah only. ‘Our room has a four-poster bed and I can’t promise we’ll do a lot of sightseeing, mia bella.’
She blushed and jumped up to begin serving the lunch. But she could not help darting Dante another glance and discovered he was watching her with a feral gleam in his eyes that filled her with excitement. On most days she worked on her recipes in the mornings and Nicole arrived to take photos for the cookery book while Dante played tennis or golf with Vito. They would all eat lunch together and in the afternoons, after the other couple had left, Dante would lead her upstairs and make love to her in his cool bedroom, where the sunlight filtered through the blinds and gilded their naked, entwined limbs.
They were lazy, golden days, and she was dreading the day when they would leave the Casa di Colombe and go their separate ways.
‘Why are you taking me to Florence?’ she asked him late that same afternoon, when they lay sprawled on his bed, breathing hard in the aftermath of a particularly wild sex session that had left her feeling astonished that her body could experience such intense pleasure.
‘Because you said you would like to visit the city.’ He could have made up an excuse, Dante mused. But what was the point? He had given up trying to rationalise why he enjoyed spending time with Rebekah—and not only in bed.
She had got under his skin. Sex with her was more fulfilling than with any of his previous mistresses, but he had also discovered that he liked talking to her and being in her company. She was interesting and her dry wit made him laugh. She also drove him mad at times because she could be sharp-tongued and prickly if she felt he was threatening her independence. Only yesterday, when they had driven into Montalcino, they’d had a fight over her refusal to allow him to pay for the traditional Tuscan clay cooking pots she’d picked up in the market.
She was a refreshing change from the usual women he dated who treated his wallet as their own personal bank, he mused. He was starting to wonder when his interest in her would fade. When they had arrived in Tuscany he had confidently expected that he would have got over his fascination with her by now. But instead he was contemplating asking her to come back to London with him at the end of the month, not to work as his chef, nor to be his mistress. If he was going to stand any chance of persuading her to give up the opportunity of working for Gaspard Clavier in St Lucia he realised he would have to offer her something more than a brief affair. The trouble was, he did not know what he wanted, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
FLORENCE lived up to its reputation as the most beautiful city in Italy. After three days of sightseeing, Rebekah was blown away by the exquisite architecture of many of the buildings and fascinated by the city’s rich history, particularly that of the powerful Medici family, whose influence had contributed to making Florence the jewel of the Renaissance.
On
