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Their desserts arrived, and with them a silver platter which, the waiter told them, held real snow from the Nebrodi range. Nestled in it were two tiny glasses of icy Limoncello.
‘Is this really snow?’ Antonietta asked, pressing into it with her fingers.
‘Apparently so,’ Rafe said, pushing his own fingers in and finding hers. ‘Notwhat I need after a skiing accident. It’s lucky it’s not triggering a flashback.’
He made her laugh.
And to see her laugh felt like a reward.
The mousse was perfect and the Limoncello, though icy, was warming and a delectable end to their meal. Though the night did not have to end, suggested Rafe. Because they could dance.
‘I told you, I don’t dance,’ she attempted to say. But when he ignored her and stood up, held out his hand, she decided that Aurora was right and this dress did deserve at least one dance.
Or two. For how could he be so tall and so broad and yet so graceful? Antonietta wondered as she melted in his arms.
He carried her through it—not physically, but through her missteps and clumsy efforts. And he only winced once.
‘Did I step on your feet?’ She gave a worried frown.
‘No,’ Rafe told her, and he said no more—just held her until she knew how to dance...but only with him.
He felt the tension slide out of her during the second dance, and he knew certain triumph as she relaxed in his arms. Somehow he knew this was rare for her. And he could not remember enjoying a night so much.
A night that could be considered tame by his usual standards, but by royal standards was both reckless and wild. Because she hadn’t been palace-approved, as a true date would be, and neither had she signed disclaimers, as his usual companions would.
It was uncharted waters for both of them.
The music slowed further, as if the band had heard his silent request, and now he moved her closer.
Antonietta made no protest, for she wanted more contact and she liked the shield of his arms. The heat from his palm was in the middle of her back and his other hand was on her bare arm. He did not put a finger wrong.
Not one.
Yet her bare arm wished that he would.
She could feel the slight pressure of his fingers and she ached to know their caress. She wished the hand on her back would go lower, so much so that she suddenly found she was holding her breath.
‘Antonietta?’
His head had lowered and his mouth was near her ear. His voice, so close, made her shiver.
‘Yes?’ she said, though she did not lift her face to him. Instead she opened her eyes to the fabric of his suit.
‘Why don’t you want me to be a world champion skier?’
She didn’t answer straight away, and instead swayed to the beat as every exposed piece of flesh—and those hidden away beneath the red silk—burned in his arms.
‘Because...’ she started.
‘I can’t hear you.’
Now she lifted her head, and she had to stretch her neck so that her red-painted lips were close to his ear.
‘Aren’t sportsmen supposed to be insatiable?’
‘I don’t know,’ Rafe said. ‘I have never been with one.’
She laughed, but then she was serious. ‘I won’t sleep with you,’ she said again.
