to marry a man who had no intention of being faithful to her. Suddenly and for the first time she wondered if Bee had been right and if she could be making the biggest mistake of her life. But then, she reminded herself quickly, she would not be entering a real marriage with Sergios. In a perfect world and when people loved each other fidelity was important, she rephrased for her own benefit. Feeling panicky and torn in opposing directions by the commitment she had so recently entered, Zara drained her wine glass and let Vitale top it up.
‘How do you feel about it?’ Zara pressed her silent companion nonetheless because she really wanted to know his answer.
‘As though we’ve strayed into a dialogue that is far too serious for such a beautiful day.’
Was that an evasion? Vitale was very adroit with words and Zara, who more often than not said the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time, was reluctantly impressed by his sidestepping of what could be a controversial subject. More than anything else, though, she respected honesty, but she knew that some regarded her love of candour as a sign of immaturity and social awkwardness.
‘I could never, ever forgive lies or infidelity,’ Zara told him.
Watching sunshine make her hair flare like highly polished silver, her eyes mysterious lavender pools above her pink pouting mouth as she sipped her wine, Vitale reflected that had he been the susceptible type he might have been in danger around Zara Blake. After all she was a beauty, surprisingly individual and very appealing in all sorts of unexpected ways. That radiant smile, for instance, offered a rare amount of joie de vivre. But most fortunately for him, Vitale reminded himself with satisfaction, he was cooler than ice in the emotion department and all too aware of whose blood ran in her veins.
Barely a minute later and without even thinking about what he was going to do, Vitale leant down and pressed his sensual mouth to Zara’s. He tasted headily of wine. His lips were warm and hard and the clean male scent of him unbelievably enticing. Zara stretched closer, increasing the pressure of his mouth on hers with a needy little sound breaking low in her throat.
Her hands curved to his strong, muscular shoulders and, as though she had given him a green light to accelerate the pace, the kiss took off like a rocket. His hot tongue pierced between her lips and she shivered violently, erotic signals racing through her slight length. A flood of heat travelled from the pinched taut tips of her breasts to the liquid tension pooling at the heart of her. Her heart thumping out a tempestuous beat, she dug her fingers into his silky black hair and kissed him back with a hunger she couldn’t repress.
Within seconds she was on her back, Vitale lying half over her with one lean thigh settling between hers. On one level she tensed, ready to object the way she usually would have done if a man got too close, but on another unfamiliar level his weight, proximity and the fiery hunger of his kiss somehow combined in a soaring crescendo of sensuality to unleash a powerful craving she had never felt before.
‘You taste so good,’ Vitale growled huskily, ‘so unbelievably good, angelina mia.’
He was talking too much and she didn’t want him talking, she wanted him kissing, and she pulled him back down to her with impatient hands. He reacted to that shameless invitation with a driving passion that thrilled her. His mouth ravished hers, his tongue darting and sliding in the tender interior and the thunderous wave of desire screaming through her was almost unbearable. Long fingers slid below her top, travelling over her narrow ribcage to close round a small rounded breast. He found the beaded tip, squeezed it and she arched off the ground, shattered by the arrow of hot liquid need shooting down into her pelvis. And that jolt of soul stealing desire was sufficient to spring her out of the sensual spell he had cast.
Eyes bright with dismay, Zara had only a split second to focus over his shoulder on the trees around her and recall where she was and what she was doing. Shot back to awareness with a vengeance, she gasped, ‘No!’ as she pushed at his shoulders and rolled away from him the instant he drew back.
Still on another plane, Vitale blinked, dazed at what had just happened. Almost happened, he corrected mentally. Dio mio, they were lying in an orchard and there wasn’t even the remotest chance that he would have let matters proceed any further. She was like a stick of dynamite, he thought next, dark colour scoring his high cheekbones as he struggled to catch his breath and withstand the literal pain of his fully aroused body. A woman capable of making him behave like that in a public place ought to carry a government health warning. Overconfident, he had underestimated the extent of her pulling power, a mistake he would not repeat, he swore vehemently.
‘I’m sorry …’ Zara’s teeth almost chattered in the aftershock of having called a crushing halt to that runaway passion. ‘But someone might have come along,’ she completed lamely, wondering if she seemed dreadfully old-fashioned and a bit hysterical to a guy of his experience. After all he had only kissed her and touched her breast and she had thrown him off as if he had assaulted her.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ Vitale fielded, reaching for her hand, the nails of which were digging into the surface of the rug in a revealing show of discomfiture, and straightening her fingers in a calming gesture. ‘I didn’t think.’
It was an admission that very nearly choked Vitale Roccanti, who, with the patience and power of a Machiavelli, had planned and plotted his every move from the age of thirteen and never once failed to deliver on any count. Zara, however, was soothed by his apology and his grip on her hand. In her experience not all men were so generous in the aftermath of thwarted desire.
In seemingly silent mutual agreement they put away the picnic and folded the rug to start back to the car. She had barely seen the garden but it no longer had the power to dominate her thoughts. Her entire focus was now centred on Vitale. Was this what an infatuation felt like? Or was it something more? Was he a man she could fall in love with? How did she know? Was she crazy to wonder such a thing? Julian had been her first love but he had never had the power to make her feel the way Vitale did. Sadly she had been too young at eighteen to understand that there should be more said and more felt in a relationship with a future.
Just before she climbed back into the car, a gardener working at a border across the front lawn raised a hand to acknowledge Vitale. Of course, his uncle’s employees would know him. She watched him incline his head in acknowledgement. Her fingers had messed up his black hair and as he turned his handsome dark head, stunning golden eyes locking to her as if there were no other person in the world, she felt a fierce pride in his acknowledgement and refused to think beyond that.
As he drove her back to his house she was in a pensive mood and slightly dreamy from the heat, the wine and the passion.
‘You’re very quiet,’ he murmured.
‘I thought you would like that.’
In a graceful gesture he linked his fingers briefly with hers. ‘No. I miss the chatter, angelina mia.’
Zara thought crazily then that engagements could be broken and weddings could be cancelled. That possibility momentarily put paid to the guilt and assuaged her conscience. It had never been her intention to deceive either man but now it was too late to tell Vitale the truth, that she was supposed to be getting married. She shifted uncomfortably at the knowledge that an honest and decent woman would have spoken up much sooner and certainly before the first kiss. Now she could not bear the idea that Vitale might think badly of her and she hugged her secret to herself in silence.
Not surprisingly, with her unusually optimistic mood interspersed by anxious spasms of fear about the future controlling her, the journey back to the farmhouse seemed very short because she was so lost in her thoughts.
She
