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His arms tightened around her, brought her tightly against his body so that she could feel the hardness of his erection. Desire quickened her heartbeat; she said his name again and wound her arms around his neck.
“Fallon,” he whispered against her mouth, “Fallon, belissima.”
He kissed her again, and she began to tremble, stunned with the intensity of her need. She’d never felt this way in the arms of a lover, never wanted to give this much, to take this much. The realization terrified her; she stiffened and pulled back.
“I can’t. Stefano, I’m sorry. I—I—”
She could almost see him fighting for self-control. At last, he smiled and leaned his forehead against hers.
“Do you know that we’ve never been out on a date?”
“A date?”
“You know. I bring flowers, we go to a special place for supper, we drink champagne, dance in the moonlight…” He smiled, reached behind his neck, caught her wrists and brought her hands between them, to his chest. “date, Fallon.”
Her heart gave a kick. She wasn’t ready to face the world. Not yet. Oh, not yet!
“Bella signorina,” he said solemnly. “Would you do me the honor of coming out with me tonight?”
“Stefano.” Fallon slicked the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip. “I know it’s the right thing to do. Going out in public, I mean, but—”
He brought her hands to his mouth, kissed first one and then the other.
“And I know the perfect place. A terrace in a beautiful garden, and just beyond it, a cliff that overlooks the sea.”
“Do you mean…here? At the castello?”
He kissed her, his mouth moving gently over hers. “The volcano has been restless all week. If we’re lucky, she might light the darkness for us tonight.”
Fallon smiled. “I’d be honored to have supper with you, signore.”
“Seven o’clock, then. I’ll be waiting.”
She lifted her face to his and when he kissed her this time, she thought that surely the earth must have moved under her feet.
* * *
At six, Fallon was standing beside her bed, staring unhappily at the clothing tossed across it.
She’d put everything away, hung the dresses and pants neatly on hangers, folded the shirts and shorts and stacked them on the shelves…and then she’d pulled all of it out again, outfit by outfit, held dresses and blouses and pants against herself as she stared into the mirror and said no, no, no.
Fallon sighed and sank down on the edge of the bed. She’d been on a lot of dates. She knew what to wear to a foreign film at a funky little theater in the Village and how to dress for late supper at the newest bistro. And this was only a dinner at home.
No, it wasn’t. This was dinner at a castle, with a man who made her feel things she’d never felt before.
What was the dress code for that?
A summer dress and high heels? A long skirt with a halter top? Sweats and sneakers? She wanted to look right. To make Stefano’s eyes light when he saw her. To somehow make him go on thinking she was still beautiful, still desirable…
A light knock sounded at the sitting room door. Fallon rose to her feet, smoothed back her hair and hurried to open it.
“Signorina? Sono Anna.”
“Yes, Anna. I didn’t ring for any—”
“Scusi,” Anna said importantly and pushed a small cart laden with glass vases past Fallon and into the bedroom.
“Scusi,” the impassive Luigi mumbled, following on Anna’s heels, his arms filled with long, white florists’ boxes.
‘Excuse me,” Fallon said in bewilderment. “What is all this?”
“Fiori,” Anna said. “Fiori, tutti per voi.”
Sicilian or Italian, whichever it was, the meaning was clear. Flowers. Flowers, all for her.
“All of them?” Fallon said, waving her hands.
She watched, stunned, as Luigi opened the boxes and Anna emptied them of their beautiful contents. Yellow roses. Red roses. Black tulips, pale lavender orchids, white hyacinths, purple violets and blue pansies, even an assortment of wildflowers. Anna bustled from sitting room to bathroom to bedroom, filling the vases with water, then with flowers, and arranging them on every available surface.
At last, she smiled at Fallon and handed her a small ivory envelope. She made a shooing motion at Luigi, who dipped his head.
“Signorina,” he said politely.
The door swung shut, and Fallon was alone.
She turned in a slow circle, staring at the flowers that filled the sitting room. She went into the bedroom and stared some more.
Then she opened the envelope, took out the note card and read it.
I wanted to send you flowers, but I didn’t know which were your favorites.
Scrawled beneath the message was Stefano’s signature.
Fallon picked up the yellow roses and buried her face in their soft petals. She’d never had a favorite flower but from now all of these would be.
Smiling even as her eyes filled with tears, she went to the bedroom closet and took out the only garment she’d left hanging in it. Her racing heart told her it was the one thing, the only thing that would complement this night.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY SIX-FORTY, Stefano had paced his bedroom and sitting room so many times he was surprised he hadn’t worn a hole in the carpet.
At six forty-five, he decided that if he checked his watch again he’d probably rip it off his wrist and hurl it at the wall. Better to check the mirror, run his hands through his hair…
Basta!
He was behaving like a schoolboy.
Briskly, he shut off the light and went down the stairs to the terrace.
Yes. This was better. He could breathe easier out here, where day was already giving way to night. The sky had taken on a delicate translucency; the sea seemed touched with tendrils of gold, and the omnipresent trails of molten lava that flowed down the face of Mount Etna were as bright as ribbons of fire.
Anna had set the terrace table with the castello’s finest linens, flatware and china. A serving cart stood to the side, laden with covered platters and bowls; a bottle of Cristal champagne stood chilling in a bucket. Everything was ready for the evening.
Everything but him.
He was pacing again, this time back and forth along the terrace. He couldn’t recall being so on edge before. He was cool under fire in business; it went without saying he was relaxed in his dealings with women.
People said il lupo solo had nerves of steel.
All true…but not tonight.
What if Fallon had changed her mind about accepting his apology?
What if she’d decided against joining him for dinner?
What if she laughed at all those flowers?
He’d never intended to send so many when he phoned the florist.
“I want a dozen yellow roses,” he’d said, imagining the color against the ebony of her hair, and then he’d thought, but what if she doesn’t like yellow roses?
So he’d ordered red ones, too. And black tulips, to show her that even in somberness there was beauty. And pansies, because Fallon was as down-to-earth as she was elegant, and orchids and hyacinths and now he could only wonder if she was upstairs laughing at him, or staring in the mirror, telling herself she’d made a mistake in agreeing to spend the evening with him at all.
Stefano checked his watch again. It was five after seven. If she didn’t show up soon, he was going to take the steps two at a time, push open her door, tell her that he was going crazy and it was all her fault—
“Hello.”
He swung toward the terrace doors and felt his heart stand still. Fallon was standing there, a smile trembling on her lips, and she was every dream a man could imagine come to life.
He’d dressed in a tux for the evening. He’d only wanted to create the right setting for her reentry into the world. It hadn’t mattered to him what she wore, jeans or a gown.
She’
d chosen to wear a gown, a long, slender length of silk that clung to her body, its color a green as deep and pure as her eyes. Her hair was loose, a straight fall of sable into which she’d tucked one delicate yellow rosebud.
“Hello,” he said, although he had to clear his throat to get the word out, but maybe it was all right because her smile steadied and she started toward him on impossibly high stiletto heels. He tried not to think about her wearing those heels, that smile, the yellow rose and nothing else.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
