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.

“I never said where I was going, did I?” Emma asked her supervisor dubiously.

“Isn’t that where you plan to go?” Mrs. Ring asked.

“Well, yes, but . . .” She turned her head and stared at Vanni, her mouth hanging open. His eyebrows furrowed and he briskly folded up his paper.

“You’d called Mrs. Ring already?” Emma asked in a hushed, incredulous tone a moment later after she’d hung up the phone.

He lifted his eyebrows and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “I wanted to make sure you had the time off.”

“You wanted to make sure you got your way,” she said, stung. “I can’t believe you did that, Vanni,” she said, anger entering her tone. She swung her legs off the lounger, placing her feet on the hot slate terrace. She suddenly felt like she couldn’t look at him, she was so pissed off.

“Why is it a problem that I smoothed things over for you with your work?”

“That’s what you’d call what you did? Smoothing things over? That’s my job, Vanni,” she exclaimed heatedly. “Maybe you think it’s some kind of unimportant sideshow—I’m not a doctor, after all,” she said, remembering how he’d asked her why she hadn’t gone to medical school when Amanda was going. His eyes flashed. “But my job is important to me. You had no right to barge in and demand I get time off!”

His expression stiffened in rising anger. She couldn’t believe he didn’t understand how heavy-handed and domineering he’d behaved. He was overtaking her mind and her body and her life, and he couldn’t seem to understand how much emptier that would make her when he was gone.

“You’ve already bought my home! Now you have to buy off my employer as well?” she demanded, standing abruptly.

“I didn’t buy anybody off,” he said through a hard mouth. “I simply put in a phone call to Mrs. Ring to explain the situation.”

“To explain what you wanted the situation to be,” Emma corrected as she picked up her cover-up. “And of course she was all too eager to make that happen. Don’t try to tell me that you didn’t make a huge charitable donation to the hospice. I suspected it ever since they assigned us to Cristina around the clock. That’s not normal operating procedure for us.”

“What if I did?” Vanni asked. How could he look so hot and sun-gilded reclining there, while his tone and eyes were frigid? “It’s a good cause. And I wanted special care for Cristina.”

“And you don’t think all the money you sent Mrs. Ring’s way had any effect whatsoever on her decision to give me a vacation on the spur of the moment when you requested it personally?” Emma asked sarcastically, trying to put on her cover-up and twisting it hopelessly because of her angry, jerky motions.

“I have no idea if it did or not,” he said.

“Give me a break,” Emma said disgustedly, jamming her foot into a flip-flop.

“Where are you going?” he asked sharply when she started to walk toward the house and the dressing room. Her clothing was still in there.

“Home. You know, that apartment you own?” she asked scathingly over her shoulder.

“Emma, stop.”

She halted instinctively at his tone, but her immobility seemed to make the fury in her chest froth even higher. He touched her upper arm and she turned to see him standing there, his blue-green eyes seeming to glow in his tanned, shadowed face.

“I’m sorry if you think it was intrusive of me,” he said stiffly. “I did it because I wanted to make things easier for you. Don’t make more of this than it is.”

Her eyes burned. “But it is more, Vanni.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’ve offered me a limited affair, and I’ve accepted. You’ve agreed to give little of yourself, besides what you offer in bed,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “You can’t do that and then try to control the private parts of my life as well . . . my home, my clothing, my job. It’s not fair.”

“Emma, listen to—”

“No,” she cut him off. Everything seemed to fall down on her all at once, crushing her, making breathing difficult. The whole situation with Mrs. Ring had flipped the lid off her anxiety . . . her fear that she was going to be hurt by him . . . her growing certainty. “Please send back all the clothing you bought for me yesterday.”

His expression went flat. “What about our trip?”

“I’m not going,” she said before she broke his hold on her arm and walked toward the house.

Wednesday evening, Emma heard a knock on her bedroom door. She quickly grabbed a tissue from her bedside table and wiped her cheeks and eyes.

“Come in,” she called.

Amanda poked her head into the crack of the partially open door.

“I made grilled salmon and a big casserole of Mom’s macaroni and cheese,” she said, her gaze running over Emma’s face concernedly. Emma gave her a tired, knowing smile. It’d been their favorite meal when they were kids. Amanda was trying to cheer her up, her worry mounting ever since Emma returned home on Monday afternoon, pale and upset. Emma had provided her sister with the skeleton of an explanation for her emotional state, saying she and Vanni had fought, and that she had canceled a trip to attend the Montand French-American Grand Prix with him. Amanda had been amazed by the news, but tried to be supportive and not ask too many questions.

After their confrontation, Vanni had finally agreed to take her home, but he’d been tight-lipped and fuming for the whole drive.

“You do realize that I have to leave tomorrow, whether you come or not?” he’d demanded when he parked the Montand sedan in her apartment parking lot.

“I know it,” Emma had said, staring out the window because it was too difficult to look at him.

“And you’re still going to continue with this . . . this tantrum?” he’d asked.

That’d poured fuel on her simmering anger. She flared like a flash fire. “Just the fact that you’re calling this a tantrum proves my whole point. I’m not a child! What you did wasn’t a small thing to me, Vanni,” she’d grated out, reaching behind her neck to unfasten the Prisatti angel. She was choking with fear over her realization that she was falling for him, and that he would leave her. Soon. The angel was a constant reminder—

“Don’t you dare take that thing off,” Vanni had seethed, his low voice vibrating with emotion.

Her gaze had flown to his face. She flinched at the blazing fury and wild helplessness in his stare. Repressing a groan of misery, she clambered out of the car and slammed the door.

Since then, he’d called several times, but Emma had stubbornly refused to speak to him. She tried to return to work—the distraction would have done her good—but thanks to Vanni’s interference, all the shifts were covered. There was nothing for her to return to until she supposedly returned from France in two weeks’ time. She’d kept to herself for days, avoiding her sister and Vanni’s calls.

Avoiding the truth, and failing.

“You really are brilliant,” Emma said presently to Amanda, tossing aside the crumpled tissue onto her bedside table. “You figured that if anything could get me out of this funk, it’s carbohydrates.”

“I figured it couldn’t hurt to try,” Amanda said with a hopeful smile, stepping into the room. She came and sat at the foot of Emma’s bed. “Are you okay?”

Emma nodded.

“Liar,” Amanda said ruefully.

“What is it?” Emma asked, noticing her sister’s hesitance.

“Vanni called me. Just now,” Amanda admitted.

“What?” Emma asked, stunned.

Amanda nodded. “He said you were refusing to talk to him, but he wanted to leave an important message. He said that his pilot was flying back to the States as we speak. The message was that he has everything arranged for you to fly to meet him at his villa in the South of France. He said . . .”

“What?” Emma demanded when Amanda faded off reluctantly, hungry for the rest of the message despite her uncertainty . . . desperate for news of him.

“He said all you need to do is get on the plane. He has everything you’ll need already there. His pilot, Marco, knows where to take you when you arrive. And he said . . . he expected you to come,” Amanda said delicately.

“Expected?” Emma asked, her spine stiffening in rising anger.

Amanda nodded, studying her with sober blue eyes. “He said you’d agreed to spend the time with him, and that you weren’t the type to go back on your promise.”

Amazement broke through her anger. He really did have balls, sending a message like that. She once again sensed Amanda’s hesitation.

“What else did he say?” she asked slowly.

“He said to remind you that you’d agreed to ‘whom these days and hours belong.’ And he said to say that you aren’t a coward. What did he mean by that?”

Blood started to pound in her ears in the taut silence that ensued. She shook her head, her throat too thick to answer Amanda’s question.

“Emma, I’m trying not to butt in, because I can tell you don’t want to talk about this thing with Vanni,” Amanda said quietly. “But I can tell you really like him. Are you worried you like him too much?”

“I’m worried I more than like him, Amanda. Much more,” she said in a choked voice.

Amanda’s eyes widened. “Oh. I see. No wonder you’re worried about going to France.”

Emma just nodded.

“It’s just . . .” Amanda hesitated, clearly torn between speaking or not.

“What?” Emma asked.

“Well, you were the one who told me after Colin and I . . .” She faded off, but then rallied. “You were the one who said it was worth it to take a risk for passion. And I happen to agree with Vanni about one thing for certain.”

Emma gave her a querying glance.

“You’re not a coward, Emma. You never were,” Amanda repeated. “He told me to give you this. He said as soon as you called, this man would arrange everything.” Emma glanced briefly at the piece of paper with the name Marco Hagan and a phone number with an international prefix on it.

She remained unmoving, watching her sister leave the room.