‘I want you,’ Vittorio confessed raggedly, ‘so much. Come back to the castle with me. Make love to me, Ana.’
Love. Ana couldn’t keep the smile from her voice. ‘Again?’
‘You think once—or twice—is enough?’
She could hardly believe he wanted her so much. It shook her to her very bones, the heart of herself. ‘No, definitely not,’ she murmured.
‘Come back—’
‘No. Not at the castle, Vittorio. Here.’
He stared down at the dusty ground of the vineyard. ‘Here?’ he repeated dubiously.
‘Yes,’ Ana said firmly, tugging on his hand. ‘Here.’ Here, where he’d found her desirable—sexy—even in her work clothes with her wind-tangled hair. Here, where she’d felt safe and heaven-bound all at once, and wanted to again, in Vittorio’s arms. Here, because among the grapes and the soil she was her real self, not the woman who wore fancy dresses and high heels and tried to seduce her husband with tricks she couldn’t begin to execute with any skill or ease.
Here.