only three days since she’d last seen him at the wine-tasting event and now he’d come to Villa Rosso, to her home, to find her? She felt a strange prickling along her spine, a sense of ominous yet instinctive foreboding, the way she did before a storm. Even when the sun beat down from a cloudless sky, she could tell when rain was coming. She knew when to cover the grapes from frost. It was one of the things that made her a natural—and talented—winemaker. Yet she had no idea if her instincts were right when it came to men. She’d hardly had enough experience to find out. ‘Is he in the office?’ she asked, a bit abruptly, and Edoardo nodded.
The sun was hot on her bare head and Ana was suddenly conscious of her attire: dusty trousers and a shirt that stuck to her back. It was what she normally wore on her regular inspection of the Viale vineyards, yet she hardly expected to receive visitors in such clothing…and certainly not Vittorio.
Why was he here?
‘Thank you, Edoardo. I’ll be with him shortly.’ Disconcerted by the sudden heavy thudding of her own heart, Ana turned back to the vines, stared blindly at the clusters of tiny grapes. She waited until she heard him leave, and the rustle of vines as he passed, and then she drew in a long shuddering breath. She unstuck her shirt from her back and brushed a few sweaty strands of hair from her forehead. She was a mess. This was not how she wanted the Count of Cazlevara to see her.
Unfortunately, she had no choice. She could hardly walk the half-kilometre back to the villa to change if Vittorio was already waiting in the winery office.
She’d undoubtedly kept him waiting long enough. Vittorio Cazlevara did not, Ana acknowledged, seem like a patient man. Taking another deep breath, she tried her best to straighten her clothes—how had her shirt become so untucked and with a long streak of dirt on one sleeve?—and, throwing back her shoulders, she headed towards the office.
The long, low building with its creamy stone and terracotta tiles was as much a home to Ana as the villa was. It was a place where she felt confident and in control, queen of her domain, and that knowledge gave her strength as she entered. Here, it didn’t matter what she looked like or how she dressed. Here, she was Vittorio’s equal.
Vittorio stood by the sofa that was meant for visitors, a coffee table scattered with glossy magazines in front of it. His hands shoved deep in his pockets, he prowled the small space with a restless energy that radiated from his powerful body. He looked like a caged panther, full of contained power, dark and vaguely threatening.
Yet why should she be threatened by him? He was just a man…but what a man. He wore an exquisite suit made of Italian silk, perfectly tailored and hugging his powerful frame—his tall frame, for he had at least four inches on her own five foot eleven. His hair was inky-dark and cut close, emphasizing those hooded onyx eyes, the slashes of his severe brows. He looked up and those knowing eyes fixed on her, making Ana realize she’d been gawping like a schoolgirl. She straightened, managing a small, cool smile.
‘Count Cazlevara. An unexpected pleasure.’
‘Vittorio, please.’ His gaze swept her in an instant, his mouth tightening in what Ana recognized as that now familiar disdain. He didn’t even realize how he gave himself away, she thought with a strange little pang of sorrow. Was he going to try some more asinine flattery on her? She braced herself, knowing, no matter what, it would hurt. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted you,’ Vittorio said, and Ana gestured to her dishevelled clothes, even managing a wry smile as if her attire was not humiliating, despite him being dressed with such exquisite care.
‘I’m afraid I was not expecting visitors. I was out in the vineyard, as you can see.’
‘How are your grapes?’
‘Growing.’ She turned away from him, surreptitiously tucking in her blouse, which seemed determined on coming untucked at every opportunity. ‘The weather has been good, thank God. May I offer you refreshment?’
He paused, and she glanced back at him. His head was cocked, and he was studying her with a thoughtful thoroughness she decided she didn’t like. ‘Yes, thank you. It is a warm day.’
Did his eyes linger on her heated face, her sticky shirt? Ana willed herself not to flush even more. If even the Count of Cazlevara was going to arrive unannounced, he would have to take her as she was. ‘Indeed. Why don’t we adjourn to the tasting room? It is more comfortable in there.’ Vittorio gave a terse little jerk of his head, and Ana led the way to the room at the back of the winery that was meant for public gatherings.
The room was light and airy, with a vaulted ceiling and large windows that let in the late morning sunshine. A few tables, made from retired oak barrels, were scattered around with high stools. Ana sat down on one of the leather sofas positioned in one corner, meant for a more intimate conversation. She sat down, smoothing her dusty trousers and offering Vittorio another smile, bright and impersonal. Safe. ‘How may I help you, Vittorio?’ She stumbled only slightly over his Christian name; she wasn’t accustomed to using it, even if she had been thinking it to herself.
He didn’t reply, instead giving her an answering smile that showed the white flash of his straight, even teeth and said, ‘You’ve done well for yourself these last years, Anamaria. The Viale label has grown in stature—not to mention price.’
‘Please call me Ana. And thank you. I’ve worked hard.’
‘Indeed.’ He steepled his fingers under his chin, surveying her with that knowing little smile that she now found irritated her. ‘And you’ve stayed at Villa Rosso all these years?’
She gave a little shrug, trying not to be defensive. ‘It is my home.’
‘You haven’t wanted to travel? Go to university? See a bit of the world?’
‘I’m happy where I am, Vittorio,’ Ana replied, her voice sharpening just a little bit. ‘And I did go to university. I took a degree in viticulture at the University of Padua.’
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘I forgot.’ Ana almost asked him how he would have known such a thing in the first place, but she decided to hold her tongue. ‘Your father must be very glad of your dedication and loyalty to Viale Wines—and to him, of course. You’ve lived with him all these years?’
‘Yes.’ Ana tilted her head, wondering where these seemingly innocuous comments were coming from. Why did the Count of Cazlevara care what she had been doing these last ten or fifteen years? What interest could he possibly have in Viale Wines? ‘I cannot imagine doing anything else,’ Ana said simply, for it was the truth. Viale Wines had become her life, her blood. Besides her father and her home, she had little else. Vittorio smiled, seeming pleased by her answer, and an assistant bustled in with a pitcher of iced lemon water and two frosted glasses.
‘Thank you,’ Ana murmured and, after the assistant had left, she poured two glasses and handed one to Vittorio. ‘So,’ she said when they’d both sipped silently for a moment, ‘you’re back at last from your travels abroad. To stay this time?’
‘It would seem so. I have, I realize, been gone too long.’ His mouth tightened, his eyes looking hard, and for a moment Ana was discomfited, wondering just what had brought him back to Veneto.
‘Are you glad to be back?’ she asked and his eyes, still hard with some unnamed emotion, met hers.
‘Yes.’
Ana nodded. ‘Still, it must have been nice to see so many places.’ Could she sound more inane? She resisted the urge to wipe
