“I’m taking you home . . . the long way,” he said, staring out the front window fixedly.

“Good.” She noticed his sharp sideways glance. “Because I’m not ready to make a decision yet . . . about it all.” She didn’t want to go to the Breakers. She didn’t want to be seduced by him. Or she did, but she knew how important careful thought was in this situation with Vanni, with whom rational thought was most difficult.

He stared ahead at the unfurling road. Maybe he’d just take her home more quickly, if she wasn’t willing to continue with their agreement tonight? She felt cast at sea, sometimes, trying to imagine what he was thinking. It was an odd paradox to how inexplicably connected she felt to him at other times.

“I told you we were going to talk. That’s all right, isn’t it?” he asked, his gaze never shifting from the road.

“Yes,” she said, looking at his profile. He turned suddenly, his gaze sweeping over her.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked sharply. She swallowed thickly, both relieved and anxious that they’d approached the intimidating topic.

“Our agreement.”

“Are you regretting agreeing to see me? Now that you know that I’m the same man you saw with Astrid?”

“I’m not sure that ‘regret’ is the right word,” she said slowly, thinking. “I’m uncertain. Confused.”

“I realize you’re upset about what you saw that night. About what you think you saw,” he added under his breath.

“I know what I saw,” she said emphatically.

“Maybe you do,” he said soberly, smoothly taking a bend in the country road around a bluff. “But you don’t know what any of it means.”

“Are you going to want to do those things to me?” she asked the question that had been burning at the back of her throat ever since she’d agreed to come with him this afternoon . . . ever since she’d fully understood who he was.

He glanced sideways, his expression going rigid when he saw her anxiety. “I’m the first person to admit I’m not an expert on kindness, but if you actually think for a second that I’d be that selfish and uninspired as what you witnessed, you’ve got this all wrong, Emma. Besides, I could do those exact same things with you, and it wouldn’t be remotely the same,” he added under his breath, his lips curled into a frown.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, still confused, but also a little amazed at his burst of honesty.

He stopped at a stop sign and looked at her. “Just remember this. I’m not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you don’t want something, just say it.”

Her mouth hung open. “It’s that simple?”

“No,” he said grimly, staring out the windshield. “But that part is as cut-and-dry as it comes.”

He pulled the car onto a narrow, weed-covered road with crumbling pavement that no one would ever have seen if they weren’t formerly familiar with it. A moment later, the vista of the great lake appeared. He put the car into park before a three-foot-tall wall that must serve as a dam during high water. Today, the waves struck rhythmically against a rocky beach a dozen feet below them. It appeared to be an old, forgotten lookout, Emma realized as she got out of the car and Vanni did the same, taking off his jacket and tossing it in the backseat. Weeds and grass were breaking through the pavement as nature reclaimed the area. She walked up to the wall and stared, the evening summer sun making the ruffled light blue blanket of water wink and sparkle at her. She knew immediately when he stepped up beside her, but for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“How did you ever discover this place?” she wondered, thinking of how remote the turnoff had been.

“Old high school and college drinking spot.”

Emma considered him for a moment. “Did you have a Montand car? When you were a sixteen-year-old?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“Yeah,” he said, his shoulders twitching slightly as if he’d thought the question inconsequential.

Emma glanced around the secluded area. It would be an ideal make-out spot. Not that Vanni probably ever just “made out” even as a hardened, gorgeous high school boy in a car that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. The thought made her shift uncomfortably on her feet.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing over at her with a furrowed brow.

“I hadn’t realized Mrs. Shaw was your aunt,” she said quietly, sidestepping the issue.

He nodded and placed his hands on the top of the wall. “Yes. My mother’s older sister. Mom was the youngest, Dean is the oldest.”

“Was your mother . . . like Mrs. Shaw, I mean, Vera?” she asked, experimenting with the name.

Vanni shook his head, the lake breeze ruffling his thick hair. “Not at all. My mother was warm and full of life. I realize Vera isn’t the most . . . approachable of women. She is an excellent house manager, and she and Janice, my administrative assistant, work well together to make sure I have what I need both at work and home. My mother and Vera look a little alike,” Vanni mused after a pause, his gaze cast out at the lake. “Once in a great while.” Emma’s heart squeezed a little at something in his voice. She wondered if he kept Vera around because of that, looking for similarities in his aunt, hungry for reminders of his mother. “They were definitely alike in one thing,” he added.

“What?” Emma asked, leaning her hip against the wall and watching his striking profile instead of the sun-gilded water.

“They were both crazy about my father,” he said dryly.

“Really?” Emma asked, making a face. “Wasn’t that a bit awkward for your mother?”

Vanni shrugged, the action bringing her gaze downward to his muscular chest covered in the crisp dress shirt. “My mother never knew about Vera’s crush. Or I don’t think she did. Who knows, really, what a wife suspects?” he said, the reflection off the lake making his eyes look more blue than green at the moment. “My mother likely suspected a lot of things she wouldn’t have told me about, as young as I was.” He glanced aside and noticed her puzzled expression. “My father was an inveterate womanizer. There’s no way my mother didn’t know about his infidelities,” he stated grimly.

“Do you mean that Vera and your dad actually—”

“No,” he interrupted, catching her drift. “At least I don’t think so. Aunt Vera’s infatuation was unrequited. I always felt a little sorry for her, existing in the shadow of her sister . . . and so many others.”

Emma didn’t reply, a feeling of sadness going through her at his matter-of-fact assessment of such a crucial aspect of his family life.

He turned to her suddenly, leaning his hip against the wall, and touched the angel at her throat.

Chapter 13

She looked up. The wariness in her large, dark eyes ate at him. Her wavy, golden hair fluttered around her delicate features. He gave in to a need he often had upon seeing her, palming the back of her skull and sinking his fingers into the soft tendrils of her hair. He’d never known a woman to have such a pretty, sexy head. Every time he saw her he wanted to cup it in his palm, delve his finger into threads of coiling, golden-blond silk.

The truth was, if a similarly impossible scenario as the one that had presented itself with Emma came up with another woman, Vanni wouldn’t have bothered to explain. He would have just chalked it up to bad luck and moved on. He didn’t invest in relationships. There were other women. Why should he have to make an effort to rationalize his actions or his nature?

But here he was with Emma, determined to try. What made it even more incredible, at least from where he was standing, was that he was embarrassed about what she’d seen. It wasn’t because he’d dominated Astrid sexually on that night that shamed him; that was background noise to him, even though he understood it wasn’t to Emma. No, it was his bored, lackluster performance, the evidence of how his black mood permeated even his sexual life of late. That was what shamed him more than anything.