A smile flickered across her lips. They were sore from squeezing him so hard, but she found the sensation a pleasant reminder of her eagerness in showing him her desire . . . of his lesson in liberating it.

“No,” she whispered, coming up on her knees and then lowering on top of him. She brushed her swollen lips against his mouth and felt him open his hand at her back. “You’re the one with the gift, Vanni. Thank you,” she murmured before he drew her closer to him with both hands, and kissed her in earnest.

After a delicious moment, she came up for air and settled her cheek on his chest, panting slightly. A feeling of lassitude and comfort overcame her when he rubbed her scalp with his fingers.

“Tell me more about your villa in France. La Mer,” she said, her tongue lingering over the exotic-sounding words.

“You’re going to see it soon.”

“I know. But I want to hear you talk about it. What does it look like?” she prodded languorously.

“It’s old,” he began after a moment, sounding thoughtful. “La Mer was built in the late seventeen hundreds, but it’s been renovated and added to many times. It’s built in the Italian Renaissance style. I think there are secrets to it even Adrian and I—who explored it with single-minded intent for treasure and secret passageways as a kid—never discovered. But I like it that way . . . with a few secrets intact,” he murmured, and she heard that faraway note in his voice, that wistful one that she’d seen on his face when he spoke of La Mer earlier. “It sits on the edge of cliffs, perched hundreds of feet above the sea. At night, with the windows open wide, you can hear the waves hitting the shore. It gets pitch-dark there, and it’s always peaceful . . .”

Emma felt her eyelids growing heavy, listening to him talk. She fought sleep desperately, though, prizing the rare, wonderful experience of Vanni Montand sounding relaxed and content.

Week

SIX

Chapter 27

She fell asleep to the sound of his deep voice describing La Mer and his sweet, funny stories about Adrian and his childhood adventures there, fishing in the sea or playing knights in the surrounding countryside. She awoke to the sensation of his mouth blazing a trail of sensation across her neck, chest, and breasts, his upper body rearing over her, his hands holding her wrists above her head.

Later, she’d allowed him to bind her to the bed. He’d sensed her disquietude at being completely restrained—arms and legs both. He’d owned her anxiety, taking pains and expending patience to ease it, building her pleasure until he’d turned her uncertainty to dust from a conflagration of pure need. At one point after she’d surrendered to climax several times, he’d entered her, and she’d closed her eyes at the almost unbearable fullness of her desire.

Look at me, he’d demanded during those ecstatic moments as he pounded into her, taking her by storm.

With her eyelids clamped tight and his voice in her ears, she’d realized she was living a dream she’d had before. With a strange thrill, she’d pried open her eyes and saw him over her, naked and savage, bracing himself on muscular arms, his beautiful, ridged abdomen sheened with perspiration, his face rigid, his eyes burning straight through her. He thrust his hips and grunted gutturally, his muscular arms bulging huge, the twin tattoo flashing in her dazed eyes. She felt his cock jerk and swell. Then he was erupting inside her, his warm semen filling her.

“Don’t you dare ever look away,” he grated out fiercely as he came.

The next morning, they’d lingered in bed, stroking one another, talking of both serious matters and trivial ones. In a moment of mutual laughter, Emma had seen the warmth in his eyes and felt their bond tighten. Never again would she feel shy or self-conscious or disconnected from him.

At least that’s what she’d thought at the time.

In the dark corners of her mind and spirit, however, that swelling feeling in her chest worried her. Had she given him too many days and weeks? If she felt like this now, how would she be weeks in the future?

It was like her present-day self—the woman who nestled skin to skin with Vanni, laughing and touching and making love, was sacrificing her future self, building up memories that one day would harm her, recollections that would pierce instead of warm. But it was so hard to acknowledge that looking into his face and seeing the heat in his eyes and his precious, small smiles . . . and every so often those bright, brilliant ones that made her heart squeeze in her chest.

There were moments when she thought she might sacrifice almost anything to see him happy, just once.

It was nearly impossible to focus on her future pain when she was in the intoxicating clutches of falling in love.

Finally, they’d arisen at around eleven and showered. It looked hot and sunny out when Vanni drew the curtains. He suggested they go for a swim, and then left her in the bedroom to retrieve the bikini top, sandals, and cover-up that he’d left poolside yesterday. When they went down together later, a table between two lounge chairs had been arranged with flowers, juice, coffee, fruit, and a covered basket of luscious-looking buns and rolls.

“Are there people in the house?” Emma asked after they’d swum and were eating their breakfast in the hot summer sun. She’d been curious about who had prepared the tray.

“Yes, Vera asked the cook for it and brought it out when I told her you were here,” Vanni said as he paged through messages on his phone, looking every bit like a distracted bronzed god wearing nothing but his low-riding swim trunks.

“You told her I was here?” Emma asked, setting down her coffee. Vanni glanced up, doing a double take when he saw her expression.

“Vera? Yes. She’d already found your suit and things by the pool and brought them in, so she already knew someone was here. Why do you look like that?”

It was a little mortifying, thinking of Mrs. Shaw discovering clothing Emma’d removed during a sybaritic moment with Vanni. “I told you, she doesn’t like me.”

His eyebrows quirked at that. “It’s what I think that matters.” Emma rolled her eyes at his cockiness. His lips tilted and he handed her his phone. He clearly thought the topic of Vera was too inconsequential to pursue.

“Call Mrs. Ring. Let her know you’ll be leaving tomorrow and won’t return for two weeks.”

She gave a heavy sigh. He was right. If she was going to do this, she’d better get it over with. “All right,” she said, “but don’t expect any miracles. I have the vacation days, I’m just not certain they’ll be able to cover for me. It’s not protocol for requesting a vacation, and it’s such short notice.”

“Just call,” Vanni said, opening a newspaper that had been placed on the tray.

She realized he’d already found the number for her. She gave him a “here goes nothing” glance and called the hospice.

“It’s not a problem. Maureen can cover for you,” Mrs. Ring said a moment later after Emma had explained about needing time off for an unexpected situation that had occurred.

“That’s incredible, I’m so relieved,” Emma said. She glanced over at Vanni, barely containing her excitement. He gave her a small smile and resumed reading his paper.

I’m really going with him. Me—Emma Shore—in the French Riviera with Vanni Montand. Incredible.

“You’re an excellent employee, Emma. You often cover for others when we’ve needed you with no complaint. We appreciate that here. Besides, no one should have to pass up an opportunity to go to the South of France. I’m quite envious,” Mrs. Ring was saying. Emma blinked, her gaze fixing blindly on the sparkling pool.