one in the center is as large as the Parthenon!” she gasped. “And so beautifully restored.”
She got a better view of the main temple when they pulled into the visitor’s parking lot. Awed, she let her gaze roam the starkly beautiful rows of columns topped by an elaborate frieze and a pitched roof. Marco hooked an arm over the steering wheel, content to sit for a few moments while she absorbed the incredible sight.
“The center temple was dedicated to Poseidon,” he told her. “The god of the sea. He was known as Neptune to the Romans, who took the city from the Greeks and occupied it until well into the ninth century.”
“Why did they leave?”
“Some say it was malaria, some believe it was a Saracen assault. That’s the Temple of Hera on the right. On the left is the Temple of Ceres, goddess of agriculture. Are you up to walking in for a closer view?”
“Most definitely.”
Her ankle had barely given her a twinge all day, but she was more than willing to tuck her arm in Marco’s for the short stroll to the temples. Her fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket. She was developing a real attachment to this soft suede. A cold breeze came in off the sea, bringing with it wispy fingers of fog and making her glad she’d worn a black cashmere sweater under her jacket.
She spotted only two other visitors in the distance, wandering among the ruins of a small amphitheater. With a little thrill, she saw that she and Marco had the temples to themselves. They approached slowly and mounted the steps at the entrance. Their footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Standing amid columns that had tumbled and been rebuilt gave her the eerie sensation of being part of man’s unceasing battle against time and the forces of nature.
“I can almost see a procession of white-robed priests and priestesses,” she murmured. “They must have made offerings to Poseidon in hopes he would fill their nets with fish … then wondered how the heck they’d offended him when a storm blew up and sank their ships.”
“Something I’ve wondered, too.”
Stricken, she glanced up the man beside her. “Oh, Marco, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to evoke unhappy memories.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” His gaze drifted around the ring of inner columns. “The people who worshipped here thousands of years ago recognized the capriciousness of the gods. That’s as good an explanation for Gianetta’s drowning as any I’ve been able to come up with.”
The quiet comment mirrored Sabrina’s thoughts of a few moments ago. Somehow, putting his wife’s death in such a timeless historical context made it a little more understandable. But only a little.
When they exited the temple, Sabrina hugged his arm tight against her side.
“Shall we sit for a moment?” he asked, steering her toward a stone bench strategically positioned for contemplation of the decorative frieze. “I want to follow up on our conversation this morning.”
“Which one?” A mischievous smile tugged at her lips. “The one where you told me to open up and say ah? Or the one where we discussed making you my personal physician?”
“The possibility isn’t as remote as it sounds. I think you should consider my suggestion of setting up a forward operating location in Rome.”
Surprised, she twisted around to face him. “Are you serious?”
“Very much so. Think of the cost savings if you and your partners didn’t have to fly back and forth from the States to survey locales or provide an on-site presence for your clients.”
The calm reply left Sabrina scrambling for breath. She’d thought they were just indulging in postcoital banter this morning. She had no idea he considered the forward location a viable possibility.
“Caroline and Devon and I just started European Business Services six months ago,” she explained. “We don’t have the contracts or the resources yet to open an office in Rome.”
“I could help. I have a great many connections within the medical community. I also belong to a number of professional associations. Each of these associations rotates their annual conference to various countries.”
Her brow creased. “You’re offering to steer business my way?”
“If it will keep you in Italy, yes.” He held up a palm to forestall her instinctive protest. “I know, I know. You’re determined to make a success of EBS on your own. You also don’t want me meddling in your negotiations. But entrepreneurs exploit their personal and professional contacts all the time. You’re shooting yourself in the foot by not taking advantage of my connections, my so lovely, so enchanting Sabrina.”
She couldn’t argue with that. EBS had landed their first really big contract because one of men she’d dated in her wilder years had referred his old college buddy. The fact that his buddy just happened to be Cal Logan, CEO of Logan Aerospace, had made for a nice chunk of change.
She wasn’t sure why she kept resisting the idea of using Marco’s influence. At first, she’d worried his title and obvious wealth would affect her negotiations with the hotel managers she’d come to meet with. Now …
Now she worried her hunger for this man might well be clouding her judgment. All he had to do was toss out the idea of setting up an office in Rome and she was ready to sign a lease!
The thought of staying close to him, of letting this undeniable attraction sizzle into something even hotter, made her heart skip a few beats. Then her gaze shifted to the temple looming just over his shoulder.
Their brief conversation about his dead wife leaped into her head. So did an almost photographic image of the portrait the duchess had shown her. Gianetta, the beautiful. Gianetta, the tragic. Gianetta, Marco’s lost love.
He swore the resemblance was only skin deep. His mother seemed to think otherwise. At this moment, Sabrina didn’t know who was closer to the truth.
As if sensing that he’d thrown her a curve ball, Marco lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I’m not asking you to decide right this moment. We have until the fourth of January together. Use the days ahead to think about my proposal, yes?”
Right. Uh-huh. Sure.
Like she was going to think of anything else?
Nine
The next morning they kicked off their New Year’s Eve celebrations with a slow, delicious session between the sheets.
Sabrina couldn’t think of any better way to end the old year and get ready to ring in the new—until she joined Marco on the terrace for breakfast. Signora Bertaldi’s cappuccino and fresh-baked brioche had her salivating even before she greeted the older woman.
“Buon mattina, signora.”
“Buon mattina.” Beaming, Marco’s housekeeper placed a foam-topped porcelain cup before Sabrina. “I don’t cook the lentils and sausage this morning because you will eat them tonight, at Palazzo d’Calvetti, yes?”
“I, uh, think so.”
Sabrina
