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You are the worst possible man I could choose to love. The echo of her voice rang hollowly in his ears. You will never be faithful to any woman. And I couldn’t take another betrayal, Stefano. I really couldn’t.
A cold jolt went through him, but he pushed the feeling away. He would just enjoy their four days. It would be a short, hot affair. That was all he ever wanted, anyway. Right?
Right?
He dropped her hands and turned away. “If we’re going downstairs to have dinner, I’d better go take a shower.”
“I’ll miss you,” she said wistfully behind him, then gave a goofy laugh. “Isn’t that ridiculous? How can I possibly miss you for ten minutes while you’re in the shower?”
Four days. Only four days. And the clock was ticking.
Ignoring the lump in his throat, he turned back and crossed the room in three steps.
“You won’t miss me, querida.” He looked down at her, and his body went hard as his heart turned over in his chest. “I’m taking you with me.”
CHAPTER NINE
ANNABELLE LISTENED TO Stefano’s even, quiet breathing as he held her naked against his chest, lying in his bed. She looked down at their intertwined fingers. Even though he slept, his hand was wrapped around hers, their intertwined clasp lit with soft gold in the fresh morning light.
Every new hour, every new minute, Annabelle spent with Stefano over the past two days had increased the depths of her joy. She’d never known life could be so wonderful.
Her camera bag and expensive photography equipment had been left in her bedroom, gathering dust. Instead, she’d lived the warm, busy, physically demanding life of the ranch, caring for the horses, going on long rides through the fields, feeling the wind and sunshine on her face. She’d even pulled vegetables from the garden and felt the earth against her fingertips. She’d taken lots of pictures, but only using her smallest digital camera, the one she could easily tuck into the back pocket of her oversize jeans. Being Stefano’s mistress took precedence over everything else.
At midnight last night, long after the rest of the staff was asleep, she and Stefano had been suddenly starving after four solid hours of lovemaking. So they’d scampered down to the kitchen, where Stefano had insisted on showing her how to prepare his favorite Spanish rice dish of paella.
“Just in case you ever want to cook for me,” he said with a wicked grin, his hands stroking over hers as he helped her stir the pot.
“Cook for you? The very idea!” she’d teased, flashing him an indignant look. “I’m a busy woman. You should cook for me!”
For answer, he’d grabbed the belt loops of the oversize jeans hanging low on her hips and turned her to face him. Her wooden spoon had clattered to the tile floor as he pulled her close to him in the kitchen.
“I’d love to cook for you,” he’d whispered. “Every time I look at you, I boil.”
He’d kissed her hungrily. Then, shoving aside the empty bowls and shattering them to the floor, he’d roughly pushed her back against the kitchen counter. As he lifted her into his arms, she’d wrapped her legs around his waist as he held her against him, pressing her back against the counter.
They’d very nearly made love right then and there, but Annabelle had suddenly remembered Mrs. Gutierrez, who was a light sleeper and probably heard the bowls smashing to the tile floor, and the impressionable teenagers who slept through anything but might wake up and wander into the kitchen for an extra meal.
Stefano had tried to reassure Annabelle that the housekeeper and boys were all exceedingly deep sleepers, long abed in a distant hallway, but she’d been steadfast. So with a growl, he’d carried her in his arms, running up the stairs to his bedroom, where they’d made love for another two hours behind closed doors.
It was only later they’d remembered the paella in the cold pot downstairs. Throwing on robes, they’d gone back to the kitchen and reheated their late-night dinner in the microwave, washing it down with a cold bottle of white wine at the tiny table in the dark kitchen.
Then they’d gone back upstairs, and again, one thing had led to another …
Annabelle sighed, wriggling her toes in pleasure at the memory. Her body felt wonderfully sore and she kept yawning from lack of sleep, but she’d never been so happy.
There was only one shadow on her happiness. The future.
Half their time together was already gone.
After the first time they’d made love, Annabelle had wanted to be with him so badly, she’d made a compromise with her soul: bargaining for four days of happiness at the expense of a little pain in the future. She’d told herself she couldn’t possibly fall in love with Stefano in four days. As he’d said himself—surely he wasn’t that adorable!
She still had two days left, she tried to comfort herself.
Two days. But only one night.
Tomorrow night, she would be the official photographer at his annual charity polo match and gala. Then, late at night, she would pack up her equipment and drive back to London. She’d go edit the photographs of Santo Castillo for Equestrian, then catch a flight to Argentina.
She’d looked forward to visiting Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego. But now, she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Stefano, her first lover. Her only lover.
