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“My father. He’s good. In fact he’s so good at what he does, even I stand in awe of him. What he really means in the American vernacular is that you’re drop-dead gorgeous to every male in sight.”
“I think you must be your father’s son. You’re good at what you do, too. No one’s ever told me that before. You’ve made my heart pound out of rhythm.”
When she realized she was actually flirting with him, she couldn’t believe it. Not after the winter she’d been living in since the divorce.
He lounged back in the chair. “Where were you when I was recuperating in hospital?”
“Probably changing some old man’s dressing at another hospital. Back then who would have dreamed that one day you’d be relaxing on your own terrace, let alone feeding your home-crasher divine cannelloni you learned to make at your mother’s feet?”
He angled his dark head toward her. “You liked it?”
“Trust me, you could open up your own restaurant on your farming property.”
“Now there’s an idea! In that case I’ll come up with something else to satisfy your taste buds for tomorrow night’s menu.”
Tomorrow night. The thought of it filled her with a fluttery sensation. “You mean you’re going to feed me in return for my listening to you.”
Lucca examined her with a speculative glance. “It makes perfect sense to me. By the way, I need some things from the store. How would you like to drive me to the farmacia in Solerno for more shaving cream and blades. Unless you’re too tired.”
“Not at all.” She’d taken something for her headache earlier, but it was the transformation in Lucca that had given her a second wind. She was pleased he was feeling this much better.
What alarmed her was how thrilled she was to be able to spend more time with him this evening. This shouldn’t be happening. “We’d better hurry before it closes. I’ll get my purse. After we get back, I’ll do the dishes.”
He got to his feet. “There’s a rule in this house. Whoever does the cooking, does the cleaning up.” He blew out the candle and followed her inside.
A half hour later they’d made the trip and she came out of the farmacia with the desired toiletries. When she would have gotten back in the car he said, “You see that trattoria across the piazza?”
“Yes?”
“It’s been here for years. They serve a dessert to go called torta caprese. I think you’ll like it.”
“I could go for a torta,” she said, mimicking his accent.
“Bene.” When he smiled like that, she had difficulty catching her breath. “Use the money I gave you to buy some for us. I’ve decided you were right about something else you said earlier. I need a little sweetening up.”
Following that thought she felt another dart of awareness at being alone with him like this. “I’ll be right back.”
Annabelle wouldn’t have said anything else, not when he was coming out of that dark place where he’d been thrust months ago. His appetite was returning and he’d unburdened himself to an extent. It had to mean he was on the emotional mend, but she needed to be careful that she didn’t read more into this than the situation warranted.
Lucca was Guilio’s son, just home from war, and she’d happened to be on the premises to offer some support. But in less than two weeks she’d be going home. To construe any more out of this would be absurd. If she’d taken it slower with Ryan after they’d first met, she might have picked up on a clue and not have married him. She needed to remember that.
The errand didn’t take her long. When she returned, Lucca told her where to drive. Five minutes later he’d guided them to a private place where the view of lights along the coastline filled her vision.
“If the whole world could see what I’m seeing,” she murmured.
“Climb in back and we’ll look together while we eat.”
His suggestion made sense because he’d done enough standing and moving for one day. Yet she couldn’t help feeling like she was a teenager getting in the backseat of a guy’s car, ostensibly to watch an outdoor movie.
The trouble was, she took too long before she acted. When she joined him, he leaned closer and whispered, “I still couldn’t if I wanted to, Annabellissima.”
CHAPTER FOUR
STEADY, Annabelle.
During the conversation with Marcella about the well-dressed Italian male, the designer had also given her tips about the Italian male himself. “They’re born flirts. It’s in their genes. They love women, all kinds, sizes and shapes.
“When they flatter you, they mean it, but don’t assume it is a serious affair of the heart. A foreign woman does not understand this. She thinks she has his exclusive interest, which, of course, she does at the time, but it’s not forever. He loves life, he loves love. The Italian woman understands this.”
