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“Stefano,” she whispered.
Still shirtless, he stood before her, his muscular body and jean-clad legs planted on the ground before her. He looked powerful, rugged. Dangerous.
She licked her lips. “What are you doing here?”
His dark eyes looked at her across the shadows of the forest. “I came for you.”
“You followed me?”
“It wasn’t difficult.”
She tried to glare at him, but she was so tired of fighting. So tired of running. “I … I don’t appreciate you sneaking up on me. Can’t you see I’m here trying to … to work?”
Sunlight and shadows shifted over the muscular curves of his half-naked body as Stefano walked toward her. In the slanted sunlight, dust motes floated lazily through the golden air. He seemed like a handsome gypsy, a dark prince from a fairy tale.
Then, wordlessly, he held out her camera.
Looking at it, Annabelle felt the blood rush from her face. Reluctantly, she reached out to take the camera.
Their fingers touched, and the shock of his rough fingertips against her skin caused a seismic tremble through her body. She started to pull away.
With a low Spanish curse, he grabbed her hand. “Why are you so afraid?”
She felt like she was falling apart. Desperately, she lifted her chin. “Afraid? Of you?”
“Yes, of me, damn it,” he said harshly. “Of everything. Of life!”
His words hung between them, echoing in the cool air. She took a shaking breath.
“Because I don’t want you to seduce me.”
“But you do.” He lowered his face until it was inches from hers. “You want it badly.”
He knew too much, saw too much. Her heart hammered in her throat.
He abruptly released her. “You didn’t run into this forest to take photographs,” he said harshly. “You ran away from me because I was getting too close. And that’s how you use your camera, your rudeness, your coldness. To keep people at a distance.”
She swallowed, looking away. When she spoke, her voice was almost too quiet to hear.
“Yes.”
“Why?” he demanded. She took a deep breath, lifting her chin. “Because,” she whispered, “it ends badly if I let anyone close to me.”
Stefano’s eyes were suddenly gentle as he reached his hand toward her cheek. “But, querida, just because a journey sometimes ends badly, doesn’t mean it’s not worth taking—”
Annabelle jerked her head away before he could touch the makeup that hid her scar.
She flashed him an angry glance. “I’m not like you, all right? I’m not promiscuous. I don’t try to seduce total strangers. I don’t have one-night stands in hotels, with anonymous lovers I don’t even want to bring home!” He sucked in his breath. “No,” he said in a low voice. His eyes glittered. “Instead, you have no home. You share yourself with no one, because you are afraid!” She gritted her teeth. “You don’t know me!”
“No?” His eyes narrowed. “Your body reveals the truth. You turn to me, querida, like a flower to the sun.”
She gasped in outrage at hearing the truth spoken aloud. “No, I don’t!”
His dark eyes electrified her as he stepped closer. “Even now, you want me to take you in my arms,” he said. “You want me to kiss you so badly you’re trembling.”
“I’m not!”
His handsome face was brutal, his body lithe and powerful, and he moved closer until only an inch separated them. She could feel the warmth emanating off his naked skin, feel the dark hair of his chest brush against the fabric of her jacket.
