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She stared at him, her doubts suddenly losing shape, growing hazy next to his muscular solidity and the steady focus of his dark eyes.
‘Okay then...’
It took them some time to actually get anywhere. People kept coming over to talk to him, and every person needed introducing.
‘Do you know everyone here?’ she asked as finally they made their way out into the deck, what seemed like several hours later.
‘I suppose I do.’
Glancing back into the crowded saloon, he made a face. ‘I know that must seem crazy, but it’s what I do—it’s who I am.’
She smiled. ‘You have a lot of friends.’
And yet he still seemed to prefer her. The thought made warm bubbles of happiness rise inside her.
He smiled down at her. ‘They’re your friends too now. Now, how about that dance?’
‘You took the words right out of my mouth.’
Swinging round, Vicè grinned at the lanky dark-haired man standing beside him. ‘Is that the best you’ve got, Roberto? Really?’
‘I’m a starving artist. I’m used to humbling myself.’
‘You’re an artist?’ Imma frowned. ‘Are you the Roberto who painted those frescoes in the hotel?’
‘One and the same.’ He made a small bow. ‘But I would much prefer to paint you, bella.’
Groaning, Vicè slipped his arm around Imma’s waist. ‘Get your own wife and paint her.’
‘This is your wife?’ The other man raised an eyebrow appreciatively. ‘Lucky man.’
‘Yes, I am,’ he agreed.
Imma felt a blush suffuse her cheeks as he stared down into her eyes.
‘Very lucky...’
Roberto shook his head. ‘I think I need to come up with a reason to get you alone, Signora Trapani. Then I can give you the low-down on this guy.’
‘She already knows.’ Vicè shook his head. ‘Now, go and stretch some canvases, or whatever it is you do when you’re not bugging me.’
Imma glanced up at him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘I just want to dance with my wife.’
* * *
She looked so beautiful. A little nervous but she was hiding it well, so that only he would have known. His spine tensed. He liked knowing that he could see beneath her poise, but it made him feel responsible.
Only how could he be responsible for Imma? He could barely manage his own life, let alone someone else’s.
Taking her hand, he drew her away from the dance floor.
She frowned. ‘I thought you wanted to dance.’
‘I do. But I want it to be just the two of us.’
He thought back to when she’d said he had a lot of friends. Were they friends? He stared at the faces, feeling suddenly confused. Tonight none of them seemed even the slightest bit familiar. Nor did he feel like talking to any of them.
