blinked. “What’s clear?”
“Just checking your house for intruders, ma’am,” Gresham said, smiling at her. “All part of the service.”
Narrowing his gaze, Rafe shot his partner an impatient look. “You want to make sure you got all those canned goods?”
Gresham’s boyish smile faded. “Yes sir.”
As Rafe carried her inside with the same loose-jointed stride that could cover twice as much ground as her short legs, Danni roused herself to lift her head. “Okay, we’re inside now. What’s going on? Why are you here?”
He looked down at her. “To ask you a few questions.”
“Questions about what?” She stared at that hard shuttered face and felt an inexpressible feeling of loss. Why hadn’t he loved her? she wondered before ruthlessly pulling her mind back to things she could control.
“Not what. Who. Jonathan Sommerset.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “Do you know Jonathan?”
“I know him.”
Hope flared, and her heart gave a leap. “Do you know where he is?” she asked with a pathetic eagerness she hated, yet couldn’t seem to disguise.
“No, that’s why we’re here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. First you need to get out of those wet things, and I need to make a phone call.” He set her down gently, keeping one hand on the small of her back until she settled firmly on both feet in the center of the square foyer.
“But—”
He cast a lazy glance at her sodden suede pumps. “You’re dripping on the rug. Pretty nice rug, too. Looks expensive. Be a shame to ruin it.”
He was right, damn him. “Then get your big feet off of it!” she shot back before turning around to climb the stairs.
“Mind if I make some coffee?” he called after her.
“You lay one hand on anything in this house, and I’ll sue!”
Chapter 2
After peeling off her sodden tunic and skirt, Danni couldn’t seem to stop shivering. Even wrapped in her thick terry cloth robe, she felt frozen inside. Deciding a bath would help, she hurried into the bathroom and turned on the hot tap. As soon as the tub was full, she slipped out of the robe and into the steamy water. A blissful sigh escaped her lips as she sank to her chin and closed her eyes.
In her mind’s eye she pictured a meadow with wildflowers. Nearby, a clear, sun-gilded stream rippled a soothing tune. The sun-warmed water was soothing and soft, bubbling around her bare ankles, and the rocks were smooth under her feet.
Secure in her safe place now, she took slow, even breaths, filling her lungs with steam-warmed oxygen until she felt her heart rate slowing to a normal rhythm. One by one she relaxed her muscles until the tension drained away. Relaxed and in control once more, she allowed herself to think of the man downstairs.
His father, Enrique, had been field foreman of Mancini vineyards since before she and Rafe had been born. His mother Rosaria had helped Danni’s mother in the house until Mary Elizabeth Mancini had died of complications a few weeks after Danni’s birth.
Alone with four children under the age of eight Eduardo Mancini had brought Mary Elizabeth’s spinster sister Gina to Oregon from her home in New Jersey to live in the big house and look after Danni and her three older brothers. With only Rafe to demand her attention then, Rosaria had become housekeeper, cook and, in many ways, Danni’s second mother. It was only natural, she realized now, that she and Rafe—only two years apart—had become playmates.
Little by little they’d grown up tussling like bear cubs, fighting and making up like all siblings do, going to school together, running through the fields like gypsies during the summers and holidays. Year by year Rafe had gotten taller and stronger, until finally by the age of fifteen he’d towered over everyone but her two big brothers, Eddie and Vito. Little by little his bony shoulders filled out, then thickened with muscle. Naturally athletic, he made both the varsity soccer and football teams his freshman year.
Danni was changing, too. Finally, after being the ugliest of ugly ducklings, she became a swan—with breasts. Gloriously full, rosy-tipped breasts like all of the Mancini women. She’d also had curvy hips and a tiny waist that was the envy of all her girlfriends.
The boys in school started noticing. Her brothers began driving her crazy with warnings about the things boys would try to do to her if she wasn’t careful. A perceptive woman, her aunt Gina had seen the way Danni looked at the tall, deeply bronzed boy with the look of a Nordic warrior about him and warned her brother-in-law of danger ahead.
Papa had just laughed. Both Rafe and Danni knew the way things worked on Mancini land. She lived in the big house, Rafe lived in the workers’ camp near the river. They were friends, yes, but nothing more. It was good for her to test her woman’s powers on someone who wouldn’t take advantage of her.
Besides, Danni had been promised to Marco Fabrizio in her cradle. Everyone in the valley knew they would marry on her eighteenth birthday, uniting two proud families.
Still, on her sixteenth birthday, Papa had sat her down and told her about her family bloodlines and her responsibility to keep herself unsullied for Mark.
Danni had listened, but she hadn’t really heard. She only cared about Rafe, who, despite her developing body, treated her with the same brotherly affection as always. And then one hot August day it happened. She’d been washing Papa’s new Mercedes, wearing only skimpy cut-offs and a halter top. Rafe had spent the day pruning vines and had stripped off his shirt in order to duck under the spray to cool off. They ended up fighting over the hose and her top had gotten soaked. The thin fabric had clung to her breasts, revealing nipples that stood out like hard pebbles.
Rafe’s breath had hissed in, and he’d stood transfixed, the hose still in his hand. The laughter in his eyes had given way to a heated look that had made her mouth grow dry. It had taken her a moment to notice the distinctive bulge behind the fly of his worn work jeans.
As soon as he’d seen the direction of her gaze, he’d turned a fiery red, thrown down the hose and stalked off toward the river. After that everything was different. Instead of teasing her mercilessly the way he had for years, he’d taken to turning red every time she came close. When he’d tried to talk to her, he’d actually stammered.
That summer big, tough Rafe Cardoza started bringing her wildflowers. Lord, but she’d gloried in her new power.
All that changed when he kissed her for the first time. Then she’d been the one whose words hadn’t come out right. The one who turned red with a melting heat that made her restless inside. She’d learned then that kisses were addictive. Like all addictions, however, she soon craved more. So, it seemed, did he.
They’d met in secret at first, usually in the grassy, sun-dappled spot beneath a corkscrew willow where Rafe had taught her to fish. No one in their families had known how things had changed between them. Not until Rafe had asked her to his senior prom. She’d been wild with excitement. Not even Mark Fabrizio’s anger when he’d found out had dented
