“What’s mine is yours, always Bella.”
She’d chosen a black mini dress. It flattered and defined her curvaceous shape. She stepped away in her spiked heels. Her hips swayed and her bosom bounced gently. He watched as she strolled through the front of the villa perched on the cliffs, admiring the furniture. She then faced him with a smile. The front of the dress crossed over her breasts and wrapped snugly around her waist with a tight belt that tied at the hip. He loved dresses made this way. Two years ago she would wear designs for him similar in style. He’d never seen fabric make a woman appear so sensual and feminine. He had to shake his head to clear the lust dissolving rational thoughts from his brain. Tonight wasn’t just about claiming her physically. She put up a good fa?ade, but he knew she held back from him. And he didn’t blame her for her caution. After all he’d stormed back into her life and dragged her back into his world. He intended to make sure she didn’t regret her decision to trust him once more.
Mira didn’t comment on the rose petals that were scattered over the marble floors. She didn’t blink at the candles in different arrangements on tall pedestals placed about. Each provided the soft lighting as the sun sank into the sea and darkness covered most of the villa in shadows. Did she notice the fireplace burning behind a smoky grey protective glass? Instead of commenting on any of it she stood at the windows captivated by what was left of the sunset, and he waited behind the white L-shaped leather sofa anxious for their night to begin.
He cleared his throat. “Does this meet your approval?”
“I don’t like the beard, Giovanni,” she said, turning. The comment threw him. Her smile was radiant, and those bottomless brown eyes of hers twinkled when her face was bathed in candlelight. “Don’t take it as an insult. It’s more of an observation. I remember another guy. My guy. The one who lifted me out of a pond of lilies and found a bracelet that meant so much to me. The one who taught me the bitter and the sweetness of Chianti. I remember the man who opened his heart to me. That guy didn’t have a beard. I miss him.”
“Can I keep a mustache?” he asked, with a nervous chuckle. Did he appear less handsome to her with the beard? He hadn’t considered how strikingly different facial hair made him. He usually grew the beard when he withdrew from people. His father and mother’s deaths had both left him covering his pain behind the hairy mask. And of course her supposed death had nearly left him terminally scarred.
“I’m willing to negotiate,” she smiled. “Mustache and chin can stay, the rest must go.”
“Consider it done.”
“Bene.” She winked. He actually felt his pulse race at the mere thought he had pleased her. Giovanni fingered his mother’s ring in his pocket and held his breath. He had worked the night out, every detail. Still he was like a schoolboy after his first piece, nervous, awkward. She released him from her seductive stare and turned her gaze back to the scenery beyond. Maybe he should have taken her to the island of Capri. At night the blue waters were beautiful. They reflected the lights from the city and appeared like rippling waves of silk. And the view from the villas in Capri was far more romantic. Damn it. He should have taken her to Capri.
He rubbed the side of his jaw. “Do you like it here?”
“What’s not to like? It’s beautiful, though the drive almost gave me a nose bleed.” She pointed back to the window. “How far up are we?”
“Not sure, it’s the second highest point in Sorrento.”
“Is that Mt. Vesuvius? The one that erupted and wiped out the city of Pompeii?” she asked.