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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.
The man she loved.
No! Annabelle’s hands flew to her head in consternation. She couldn’t let herself love him. Stefano Cortez would never commit to any woman. She would have to be barking mad—or utter
ly masochistic—to let herself love a man who’d never love her back!
Trembling, Annabelle carefully pulled away from his arms and crept out of his bed.
She took a shower in his en suite bathroom, then got dressed in clothes she’d borrowed from his wardrobe: an oversize white cotton shirt and jeans cinched to her hips with his leather belt.
Looking down at her clothes, Annabelle smiled. Stefano had been so gleeful to finally get her out of her dressy suits. She’d finally given up her sleek and professional outfits as impractical, and instead relished the comfort and good sense of Stefano’s oversize cotton shirts and rolled-up jeans.
He’d sent for new work boots for her in the village. He offered to get her new clothes, as well. But she’d refused. She loved wearing Stefano’s clothes. It was intimate. She sometimes thought she caught his scent of saddle soap and sunlight. Feeling the worn, soft cotton against her skin felt like being in his constant embrace.
Now, she looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. And for once, it wasn’t the angry red scar across her face that drew her eyes. It was her mouth.
She touched her bruised lips. She could still feel Stefano’s kiss. His perfect body.
She’d been sleeping in his bed every night. His sensual, powerful body commanded her without words. He gave her such pleasure, made her feel so alive….
“There you are,” she heard him growl behind her. “Why did you leave bed so early?”
Annabelle looked up at the mirror and saw him behind her, standing naked in the open doorway. In spite of their many days together, she blinked in astonishment at his masculine perfection. His shoulders were so broad, his body muscular and lithe. She couldn’t look from his image in the mirror as he walked into the gleaming white bathroom. Her eyes traced downward from his handsome face and dark, chiseled jawline to his hard chest and flat belly and lower still …
He wanted her to come back to bed. A lot.
His darkly amused eyes met hers in the mirror and she licked her lips, blushing.
Coming behind her, he turned her around in his arms.
“I missed you.” He looked down at her. “I was disappointed to wake up alone.”
Closing her eyes, she breathed in his woodsy, masculine scent, in the pleasure and comfort of his embrace.
