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Back to her bedroom? She looked up sharply. “No!”
He stared at her, his brow furrowed.
She exhaled. “What I mean is … I’m not ready for bed. I just need some fresh air.”
“Of course.” Tossing his linen napkin on the table, he rose gracefully to his feet and held out his arm. “Let me take you outside.”
Annabelle stared at the muscled, bare forearm revealed by the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. She was afraid to touch him again, afraid of the reaction she knew it would cause. She placed her fingers as lightly as possible on his arm.
As her fingertips felt the rough dark hair of his warm skin, she felt the same sizzle as before. She could feel the strength and grace of his body as he walked beside her. She trembled, looking up at him through her lashes.
The sprawling house was quiet and dark as he led her down the hallway. Apparently, the stablehands and housekeeper had all gone to bed. The only sound Annabelle heard was the echo of their footsteps.
They were alone.
She nervously glanced up at him through her lashes. It took a great deal of willpower, all her pride, not to turn and run away. She thought again of her truck parked in the garage.
She could be back in London in seventeen hours, less if she pushed hard on the gas pedal.
As soon as they were out on the terrace, she dropped his arm, exhaling in relief. Then she blinked in amazement at the view of the wide-open night sky and moon-drenched fields beneath.
She felt the cool air against her skin and took a deep, cleansing breath.
Then Stefano spoke from the darkness beside her.
“So Moreira failed to seduce you,” he said in a low voice. He looked at her. “How would a man succeed?”
Silvery moonlight frosted his hard-edged cheekbones, the hard masculine edge of his jawline. She couldn’t look away from the sensual shape of his mouth, illuminated in soft silver light.
“Annabelle,” he said softly, and her name on his lips was like music.
With an intake of breath, she stumbled back from him, grabbing a stone column on the terrace for support. He grabbed her upper arm. She felt his warmth through the linen of her jacket sleeve and shivered.
“How could a man seduce you?” His voice was low, but his eyes were fierce.
Annabelle took a deep breath.
Like this, she thought. Everything about him seduced her. Candlelight and conversation. The comfort and beauty of his home. The strength of his body. The power of his will. The intensity of his dark eyes.
But she couldn’t tell him that. He was probably just making small talk. How great a fool would she be to tell him she was already falling for his playboy charm? He didn’t need another gullible female believing the lying promises of his gaze.
“I told you.” She looked away. In the distance, she saw the dark shadows of the craggy hills against the pale violet of the moonlit horizon. “I am impossible to seduce.”
He moved closer. “I don’t believe you.”
She pulled away, looking at him with narrowed eyes.
“Why do you care?” she said. “You have enough women queuing up for your bed. You certainly don’t need one more falling at your feet.”
Silence fell, the only sound the distant call of night birds. He looked down at her, his body absolutely still, so close and yet not touching her.
“Ah,” he said quietly, “but you’re the woman I want.”
He wanted her?
With a sharp intake of breath, Annabelle
looked up. He couldn’t have just said what she thought he said! She felt the soft night breeze against her skin. Saw a wispy cloud pass in front of the full white moon above. She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to contain the tremble of her body from within.
