Married For Revenge: Roccanti's Marriage Revenge / A Deal at the Altar / A Vow of Obligation. LYNNE GRAHAM
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every contemporary comfort had been incorporated.
A light knock sounded on the ajar door. Vitale set her bag down on the wide-planked floor. ‘Dinner will be served in an hour and a half. I hope you’re hungry. I bring guests here so rarely that Giuseppina seems determined to treat us to a banquet.’
Zara glanced at him and for an instant, as she collided with dark eyes that glowed like the warmest, deepest amber in the fading light, it was as though her every defence fell down and she stood naked and vulnerable. For a terrifying energising moment she was electrified by the breathtaking symmetry and beauty of his face regardless of the five o’clock shadow of stubble steadily darkening his jaw line. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him and the passage of blood through her veins seemed to slow and thicken while her heart banged behind her ribs and her breath dragged through her tight throat.
As Giuseppina took her leave, her sturdy shoes ringing out her descent of the stairs, Vitale held Zara’s gaze, his eyes scorching gold, lashes dipping low as though to conceal them. ‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ he told her huskily, backing away.
As the door shut on his departure Zara was trembling. She felt too warm. Unfreezing, she darted into the bathroom to splash her face with cold water. Her hands shook as she snatched up the towel to dry herself again. Never before had she felt so aware of a man. The feelings that had drawn her to Julian as a teenager paled utterly in comparison. She stripped where she stood to go for a shower. What was happening to her? She had decided a long time ago that she just wasn’t that sexual a being. Only once had a man made Zara want to surrender her virginity and that man had been Julian, but if she was truthful she had only been willing to sleep with him because she had assumed that it was expected. When in fact Julian had put greed ahead of lust in his priorities, Zara had been left a virgin and a very much sadder and wiser one. So what was different about Vitale Roccanti?
After all, in August she was supposed to be marrying Sergios Demonides and, having thoroughly weighed up the pros and cons, she had reached that decision on her own. All right, she didn’t love the man she had promised to marry and he didn’t love her, but she did respect the commitment she had made to him. Loyalty and respect mattered to her. Was it stress that was making her feel edgy and out of sync? Or was Bee’s warning that she might fall for another man after she married working on some level of her brain to make her more than usually aware of an attractive man? Vitale was an extraordinarily handsome man and very charismatic. That was fact. Possibly she was more nervous about getting married than she had been prepared to admit even to herself. And for all she knew Vitale Roccanti was a married man. Yanking a towel off the rail as she stepped out of the shower, she grimaced at that suspicion. At the very least he might be involved in a steady relationship. And why on earth should that matter to her? Not only did it not matter to her whether he was involved or otherwise with a woman, it was none of her business, she told herself staunchly. In the same way it was none of Vitale’s business that she was committed to Sergios. She thought it was unfortunate, though, that Sergios had chosen not to give her an engagement ring. But there was still no good reason why she should bother telling Vitale that she was getting married in three months’ time. Why was she getting so worked up?
Releasing her hair from the clip, she let the silvery strands fall loose round her shoulders and she put on the print tea dress she had packed for more formal wear. Dinner was served on the terrace at the rear of the property. A candle flickered on the beautifully set table in the shade of a venerable oak tree. Her slim shoulders unusually tense, Zara left the shelter of the house.
A glass of wine in one hand, Vitale was talking on a cell phone in a liquid stream of Italian. He was casually seated on the edge of a low retaining wall, a pair of chinos and an open shirt having replaced the suit he had worn earlier. Black hair still spiky from a shower, he had shaved, baring the sleek planes of his features and throwing into prominence his beautifully shaped mouth. Her heart seemed to take a flying leap inside her body, making it incredibly difficult to catch her breath.
‘Zara,’ he murmured softly in greeting, switching off the phone and tossing it aside.
‘I used to hate my name but suppose everyone does at some stage when they’re growing up,’ Zara confided, aware that she was chattering too much in an effort to hide her self-consciousness but quite unable to silence herself.
‘It’s a pretty name.’
Madly aware of his intense scrutiny, Zara felt her cheeks warm. For goodness’ sake, relax, she urged herself, exasperated by her oversensitive reaction to him. He sprang fluidly upright, his every physical move laced with easy strength and grace, and asked her if she would like some wine. He returned from the house bearing a glass.
It was a warm evening. She settled into the seat he pulled out from the table for her and Giuseppina appeared with the first course, a mouth-watering selection of antipasti. Her bright dark eyes danced between them with unconcealed curiosity and romantic hopes.
‘I’m twenty-nine. She thinks I ought to be married by now with a family and she keeps on warning me that all the best girls have already been snapped up,’ Vitale told her in an undertone, his eyes alive with vibrant amusement.
Surprised by his candour, Zara laughed. ‘Have they been?’
‘I don’t know. The women with wedding rings in their eyes are the ones I’ve always avoided,’ Vitale volunteered.
Zara reckoned that if she was truly the honest person she had always believed she was she would be telling him that she was within a few months of getting married herself. Yet while the admission was on her tongue she could not quite bring herself to speak up. At the same time she could not help wondering if Vitale could actually be warning her off. Was it possible that he was letting her know that he had only ever been in the market for a casual affair?
Whatever, there was no future or sense in succumbing to any kind of entanglement with him and she was far too sensible to make such a mistake. In honour of that conviction and impervious to his polite look of surprise, Zara dug her notebook out of her bag and began to quiz him about his garden preferences and his budget. The main course of steak was so tender it melted on her tongue and it was served with a tomato salad and potato and cheese croquettes. She ate with unbridled pleasure for it was, without a doubt, an exceptional meal, and when she could bring herself to set down her knife and fork she took notes.
‘This is not quite how I envisaged dining with you,’ Vitale remarked wryly. It hadn’t escaped his notice that she ignored any hint of flirtation, preferring to maintain a professional barrier he had not expected. Of course she was clever enough to know that lack of interest only made the average man keener, he decided, unwilling to concede the possibility that she might be genuinely indifferent to him.
Although he was taken aback by her eagerness to work he was pleasantly surprised by her healthy appetite and the way in which she savoured Giuseppina’s renowned cuisine, for he was accustomed to women who agonised over eating anything more calorific than a lettuce leaf. ‘You should be relaxing. You can work tomorrow.’
‘But I’m only here for a couple of days. I need to make the most of my time,’ Zara told him lightly as Guiseppina set a lemon tart on the table and proceeded to cut slices. ‘And if I do find myself with a spare couple of hours I’m hoping to try and visit the garden my aunt Edith made at the Palazzo Barigo.’
‘Have you not already seen it?’
‘I’ve never been to this area before. My parents don’t do rural holidays.’ Her sultry mouth quirked at the mere idea of her decorative mother in a countryside setting. ‘I did ask my aunt once if she would like to come back and see the garden and she said no, that gardens change with the passage of time and that she preferred to remember it as it was when it was new.’
‘If I can arrange it before you leave I will take you to the Palazzo Barigo for a tour,’ Vitale drawled softly, lifting the bottle to top up her wine glass.
‘No more for me, thanks,’ Zara told him hurriedly. ‘I get giggly too easily, so I never drink much.’
Vitale was sardonically amused by that little