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Would he look like the man at the airport?
The skin on the back of Fallon’s neck tingled. He was up there, watching her again.
She knew it.
She looked back, shading her eyes, making no attempt to be discreet and yes, there he was, standing with his arms folded, his eyes hidden behind those omnipresent dark glasses.
A hot arrow of desire shot through her so quickly, so unexpectedly, that she felt her knees turn to water. She wanted—she wanted—
Out of here. That was what she wanted. Turning, she splashed through the shallows to the beach.
“O’Connell?”
Her sunglasses were on a canvas folding chair. She jabbed them on her nose and shoved her feet into a pair of rubber thongs.
“What’s happening, babe?”
“The session’s over, that’s what’s happening.”
“Yeah, but the light’s changing.” Maurice hurried after her as she headed for the path that wound up the cliff. “Babe,” he whined, “look at the sky. Clouds, see? And the water’s getting choppy. Nice little waves coming in. Moody stuff. I thought we’d try something new—”
“I’ll see you later,” Fallon said, and started up the path. Maurice was a great photographer but he never knew when to stop.
She did, and it was now.
She was out of breath by the time she reached level ground. The stranger was gone, which annoyed her. What kind of man watched a woman without making an effort to meet her? Because yes, he was watching her. Not the others.
Her.
Fallon strode toward the tent, where the Bridal Dreams people were sprawled in a semi-circular arrangement of canvas chairs, their faces tilted up to the sun.
Andy looked up and called out to her. “All done?”
She nodded. He grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. She grinned back, returned the gesture and opened the door of the ancient little red Fiat she’d rented from the innkeeper as soon as she’d realized how isolated this place was.
Her jeans and T-shirt were lying in the back seat. Fallon pulled them on over her bikini, grimacing a little at the feel of the hot cotton against her sticky skin.
She wanted a shower and a cold drink. She wanted to pack her things for tomorrow’s flight home and then, maybe, drive up into the hills for one last look over the sea.
Most of all, she thought as she let out the clutch and floored the gas pedal, most of all, she never wanted to see this cliff and its castello again.
* * *
Stefano watched Fallon O’Connell walk toward the tent he’d permitted to be raised on his property.
She seemed to be in a hurry to leave.
Was he the reason? Yes. He probably was.
Stefano opened the concealed minifridge built into the wall behind his desk, took out a bottle of water and raised it to his lips.
The lady thought he was watching her. He’d realized that days ago. The way she stiffened and looked around her whenever he appeared was a dead giveaway.
It didn’t surprise him. Women who looked like her assumed they had the eye of every man who saw them.
She was wrong. He wanted nothing to do with her.
Concern for his privacy had drawn him back, not a woman, and a damned good thing, too. Carla had violated their agreement before he’d even had time to board his plane. She’d brought in more people than she’d said she would, and his housekeeper told him that she’d sought access to the house the instant his back was turned.
Stefano settled into a leather armchair, put his feet up on a hassock and took another drink of cold water.
Of course, he’d sent Carla packing. He’d wanted to toss out the lot of them, her and her hedonistic fashionistas, too, but that dark threat she’d made hung over his head. Instead, he’d done the best he could, told his former mistress to get off his property before he had her thrown off.
Then he’d settled in to get through the week without going crazy from boredom, and that was the only reason he’d taken to observing the Bridal Dreams group.
Fallon had reached the disreputable-looking old car she’d picked up somewhere. Stefano frowned as she opened the door, pulled out jeans and a T-shirt and slipped them on. The shirt was oversize but the jeans clung to her legs. Such impossibly long legs, he thought with lazy appraisal.
Clothed, she was as magnificent as she’d been in the string bikini.
Okay. Maybe he paid more attention to her than to the others. What man wouldn’t? She was stunning, the kind of woman who’d silence a room simply by entering it. A man would have to be blind not to enjoy looking at her.
Tomorrow, there’d be nothing to look at.
This unwanted intrusion in his life was over. This was the last day the photographic crew would be here. Fallon O’Connell was driving away right now. He couldn’t help smiling at the way the little Fiat bucked. She’d probably let the clutch out too fast. She was driving too fast, too, leaving a plume of dust behind.
The photographer had joined the others near the tent. Soon, they’d climb into their hired van and then—and then, he’d never see Fallon again.
Stefano got to his feet and paced to the window.
He’d never see any of these people again. That was what he’d meant.
The Fiat disappeared in the grove of trees that led to the gate. The van followed scant seconds later. Stefano raised the half-empty water bottle in mock salute.
Good riddance to the lot of them.
His world was his own again. No more unwanted voices, drifting from the beach. No more people tromping across the ruins or standing on the edge of the cliff, looking out at his sea and his volcano.
No more Fallon O’Connell, with that lush mouth he’d dreamed of tasting, those high breasts that surely would fill his senses with their perfumed heat, those incredible legs that he could imagine wrapped around his hips.
Stefano frowned and put down the bottle.
All right. So his disinterest was a lie. The truth was that he’d watched her like a damned hawk, felt his body turn hard for her, pretended he hadn’t wanted to take her to bed when it was all he’d wanted from the second she scrambled into his car. He’d watched her pose for the camera, seen her feign expressions of excitement and lust, and known he could make her actually feel those things, make her eyes long for the sight of him, her soft voice cry out for him, for his possession…
>
Was he losing his mind?
Stefano strode out of his study, through the kitchen where his housekeeper looked up in surprise.
“Signore? Avete desiderato qualcosa?”
“No,” he said, trying to sound polite, knowing he sounded anything but that. “Thank you, Anna. I don’t want anything. Grazie. I’m going out riding. Don’t bother making me supper.”
Anna pursed her lips. She was a small, thin woman, Sicilian to the marrow of her bones, and the only thing she seemed to want more than to fatten him up was to turn him into a true Siciliano who could read everything in the rise and fall of insect voices or the wind blowing in from the sea.
“A storm is coming. There will be wind and rain.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“In the dark, the roads will be treacherous.”
Just what he needed. A second Italian grandmother.
“I’ll probably be back long before then.”
Anna gave a deep sigh. “As you wish, Padrone.”
As he wished? Stefano almost laughed as he went into the garage and shut the door behind him. He walked past the first three bays to the last, stroked a hand lightly over the gleaming black Harley that was his vehicle of choice wherever the roads were narrow and twisting.
If things were as he wished, Fallon O’Connell would either be waiting in his bed or he wouldn’t be thinking about her at all.
He put on his helmet and his black leather jacket, pressed the button and waited while the door slid up. Then he straddled the bike and kick-started it to roaring life.
He knew where she was staying, knew he could go there and confront her, tell her that the hot flash of sexual awareness he’d seen in her eyes when they met pulsed within him, too.
But he wouldn’t.
Wanting her was a weakness. She was a friend of Carla’s, a citizen of Carla’s gaudy world. Besides, wanting any woman was a weakness just now. Carla had left a bad taste in his mouth. Didn’t people say that celibacy—temporary celibacy—was good for the soul?
God knew his soul could use all the help it could get.
Stefano snapped down the visor of his helmet and roared out of the garage. A long, hard ride would calm him down.
So would the knowledge that he would never lay eyes on Fallon O’Connell again.
