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Staring through the window at the blue Spanish sky and distant green forest, she touched her lips. After thirty-three years, she’d finally been kissed. And her first kiss had been from a master.
For the second time in her life, there would always be a mark. Another before. Another after. All because Stefano Cortez had kissed her.
Work, she ordered herself. She turned resolutely back to the screen. She typed a reply to Mollie, then, plugging her camera into her laptop, she transferred the newest images to her computer. She looked through one shot after another of wide golden fields, cragged green mountains, horses galloping through the slowrising mist of dawn.
Annabelle paused, her fingers stilled over one image.
The single picture she’d taken of Stefano in the stables that morning shone with vividness and energy. She’d caught him unaware, while he was shoveling straw. The slant of dawn’s golden light from the windows illuminated the sheen of his tanned skin. Dark hair laced the muscles of his bare, muscled chest. His masculine beauty made her catch her breath.
She paused. She closed her eyes.
And she deleted the picture.
She nearly cried doing it. Her photographer’s soul screamed not to destroy the beautiful image. But it was her only hope of survival—to erase Stefano from her heart.
There was a knock on her door. She looked up, her cheeks hot with guilt and grief. “Come in.”
“Here’s breakfast.” Stefano brought in a tray and put it on her lap. She looked down to see ham and eggs, toast and fruit. “I got this from the kitchen. I brought both coffee and tea, since I didn’t know which you’d prefer.”
“Thanks.” Mechanically, she took a bite of toast. She poured cream into her tea, then drank a sip of the hot black coffee. She looked up at him and said in a dead voice, “I’ve decided to stay and finish my assignment.”
A smile lit up his handsome face. “Bien. I knew you would—”
She held up a hand, cutting him off. “You must never kiss me again.”
His brow lowered. “Why? You disliked it?”
She sucked in her breath. “No. That would be a lie. When you kissed me …” She swallowed, then tried to keep her voice even as she said, “You kiss very well. Of course you do. You’re famous for it.”
He blinked at her cool tone.
“But being close to you impairs my judgment,” she said. “It impairs my ability to do my job with clear eyes. And like I said … my work is what matters.”
“But, Annabelle, surely.” He reached to take her hand, but she pulled it away, folding her hands tightly in her lap.
He stared down at her, his eyes dark.
“Do not pursue me,” she said. “Please. Let me finish the job I came here to do.” In spite of her best efforts, her voice trembled and broke as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “If you have any mercy in your heart,” she whispered, “leave me alone.”
CHAPTER SIX
STEFANO RUBBED HIS HAIR with a towel as he got out of the shower. Lathering his face in front of the mirror, he shaved with a straight razor. He froze at the sight of his haggard face.
He’d had three days of staying away from Annabelle now. Three days of leaving her alone. Three days of telling himself it was all for the best.
Three days of hell.
Setting his jaw, he toweled off the rest of his body and left the en suite bathroom, padding naked across his bedroom to the closet. He was still furious with himself.
He should have known better than to kiss her in the forest. He’d tamed enough horses to know that rushing Annabelle into a kiss, after she’d just run away from him in blind fear, was a mistake.
And yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself. What a kiss. When she’d kissed him back with her trembling heart-shaped mouth, it had been heaven. He’d very nearly ripped off her clothes right then and there in the forest, and taken her against the rocks. Against a tree. In the water. Anywhere.
Annabelle’s kiss had been so raw, so un-practiced, so real. She’d clearly taken very few lovers in her life, a chosen, sacred few. He’d felt it when he’d kissed her, in her shaking lips as they separated beneath the force of his caress. She did not surrender herself lightly. He’d felt her shock, her hesitation. Then, like a miracle, he’d felt her fire.
A man would die for a kiss like that.
Stefano should have felt privileged beyond imagination. Instead, he greedily wanted more. Hungered for it. Thirsted.
