Her mind was preoccupied almost exclusively with one—admittedly stupid—thought all the way home. Should I ask him inside my apartment, or would he prefer just to wait in the car? Asking Vanni inside seemed intimate. Somehow it didn’t seem to match up with the purely sexual affair she’d agreed to with him for a circumscribed period of time. She suspected he felt that way, at any rate, and so she wanted to act accordingly.

Earlier in his suite, he’d asked her politely if she’d like to shower there or at her home, to which she’d answered the latter. Then there’d been nothing left for her to do but sit in a chair in the sitting area and watch in mounting fascination the tail end of his grooming/dressing ritual.

He’d quickly showered after they’d made love, and then changed into a suit. It was a dark gray, with which he wore a white shirt, a slim black tie with two white stripes, silver cuff links, and a crisp white pocket square.

He’d donned his clothing in a methodical fashion, as efficient as a knight putting on his armor. He’d put on the pants, shirt, socks, and shoes in a large dressing closet, where she couldn’t see him. When he’d stepped out, she stared at him with a mixture of fascination and lust. He looked beautiful with the shirt unbuttoned, his ridged abdomen and powerful chest showing through the two-inch gap between the plackets. He hadn’t shaved, and an attractive dark scruff was on his jaw and upper lip. She watched, spellbound as he fastened his shirt and crisply tied his tie in the mirror over his dresser. His hair had still been a little damp around the collar by the time he snapped on his platinum watch and turned his gaze to her where she sat on a chair in the seating area, blinking at her expression of bemused fascination. She’d been a little undone viewing the Vanni Montand dressing ceremony, that ritual of blatant male sexuality and precision.

Now he sat there in the driver’s seat, smelling delicious from his shower and looking impossibly gorgeous. The idea of him inside her apartment seemed . . . just odd. Unlikely. Surely he’d rather wait in the car.

“I’ll just hop in the shower and change for dinner. It won’t take me more than ten minutes,” she said awkwardly when the car came to a stop in her apartment parking lot.

He didn’t reply. She studied his profile in the soft summer evening light.

“Um . . . do you want to come in?”

Much to her surprise, he nodded once and twisted the keys out of the ignition. Her heart jumped when he reached for his car door.

Oh my God, how is Amanda going to react? I haven’t even told her I was seeing anyone, let alone someone like Vanni Montand.

“I’m on the third floor. It’s a walk-up,” she mumbled apologetically a few seconds later as they approached her building. Again, she experienced that dazed, dreamlike sensation watching Vanni rise up the starkly mundane wooden staircase that led to her third-floor apartment. They passed an overlook to the parking lot below on the second floor. Emma’s feet halted when she saw Colin’s car in the parking lot. She’d been so preoccupied sitting in the car with Vanni and inhaling his subtle, addictive scent that she’d hadn’t noticed it before.

“Emma?” She blinked and looked at Vanni where he stood on the first step to the third floor, an expectant look on his face. Her brain whirred and then stalled. What excuse could she make? She couldn’t think of anything else to do but continue.

“Sorry,” she breathed, following him up the steps.

She led him to her door and fumbled the key in the lock. Suddenly, his hand was on hers. She looked up in surprise. His blue-green eyes seemed to glow in the shadows as he regarded her calmly. Soberly.

“I don’t care if your house is a mess, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said.

Her house a mess? She almost laughed. It was a mess, but not in the way he meant it.

His hand turned the key in the lock. The door swung open.

Emma led him through the small foyer and into her modest but comfortable living room, a lump swelling in her throat. She paused abruptly on the threshold.

In some ways, the situation echoed the other night when she’d caught Amanda and Colin together. The pair sat close together on the couch and looked startled by her appearance. At least they weren’t kissing, though, Emma thought numbly.

In actuality, it was drastically different. Vanni came to a halt beside her, and Colin and Amanda might have been a mile away. His presence altered the dynamics of the situation almost beyond recognition. How could she worry too much over Colin and Amanda’s new relationship with him standing right next to her?

“Hi,” Emma said in a high-pitched voice.

“Hi,” Amanda replied. She gaped at Vanni. So did Colin. For a few seconds, no one spoke.

“Hi. I’m Vanni Montand.”

Emma blinked in rising horror when she saw Vanni crossing the room. He held out his hand to Amanda. He’d had to introduce himself, because he was the only one in the room not tongue-tied. Emma forced herself to move.

“I’m sorry. Vanni, this is my sister, Amanda.” Amanda stood to shake hands, still staring at Vanni dazedly. Vanni nodded cordially at her and turned to Colin.

“And this is Colin Atwater,” Emma introduced through a dry throat.

The small, warm smile Vanni had given Amanda flickered and faded. His dark brows slanted dangerously. He glanced at Emma and she read the sharp questions in his eyes. The Colin? Your old boyfriend Colin?

She gave him a wild look. Colin had stood in the meantime. He looked younger than usual, studying Vanni uncertainly. Colin started to put out his hand, but Vanni gave him a burning scowl and he let it drop. Vanni grabbed Emma’s hand instead.

“Excuse us,” he said coolly, drawing her away. “We have a dinner reservation to make. Emma needs to dress.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded immediately after she’d pointed to her room and he’d followed her in, closing the door behind him. His voice was quiet, but his gaze shouted all kinds of things.

Emma glanced around nervously. If it’d been strange to think of Vanni in her apartment, it was downright bizarre to see him in her bedroom. He shrunk the size of it just by standing in it. His abundant good looks and the careless way he wore the expensive suit seemed to make her carefully chosen bedroom set and accessories appear shabby by comparison.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think it was important,” she hedged.

He took a step closer, his gaze boring down into her. She had to force herself not to step back. “You walked in on your boyfriend fooling around with your sister? And you didn’t think that was an important detail?”

“All right,” she said, anger rising in her. Why was he acting like she had done something wrong? She turned and dropped her purse on her bed, then immediately wished she hadn’t. Now she had nothing to do with her hands. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d . . .”

“What?” he prodded when she faded off.

“Feel sorry for me,” she shot defiantly over her shoulder.

He put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. She glared up at him. “Don’t you think compassion would have been appropriate in that situation?” he breathed out ominously through a stiff jaw.

“No, because even though no one believes me, I’m honestly not all that upset about what happened. Colin and I weren’t meant to be together.”

“You and your sister are.”

She inhaled sharply. Hurt tightened her face.

Regret flickered across his stark features.

“Dammit, Emma, you should have said something. And what the hell are they doing out there together? This is your home, for Christ’s sake. Don’t they have any decency, parading around in front of you?” he seethed.

“I told Amanda she could bring him here. This is her home, too. I’m not upset by it. Why should it matter to you?” she mumbled, looking down at the floor. Tears had prickled in her eyes when he’d said that thing about her and Amanda being meant to be together, and she didn’t want him to notice them. She was distantly gratified by his anger on her behalf, but she was mostly embarrassed. No matter how you looked at it, it wasn’t an admirable position to be in, to have a man pass over you for your gorgeous sister, no matter that you didn’t want the man.

Or to have your only family member sacrifice you for a man.

She slumped as pain swept through her at the thought. His hands slid down her shoulders to her upper arms. He palmed the muscles.

“So you’re not upset,” he said dryly.

“No,” she replied furiously, stubbornly meeting his stare despite her tears.

He just studied her soberly for a few seconds. “It was bad enough that I pounced on you in the garage after you’d told me you broke up with your boyfriend. I knew you were upset, I just didn’t guess the full extent of why.”

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t have made out with me or proposed a strictly sexual affair if you’d known it was Amanda I caught Colin with?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes went frigid.

“No. You’re right. I would have gotten there eventually, no matter what.”

“Well then what are you worried about? You can’t be both selfish and outraged on behalf of my feelings at once, Vanni.”

He dropped his hands abruptly. Even though she was irritated at him—at the world, at that moment—she missed his touch.

“You do realize that makes me even more of a jerk than Colin, don’t you? I just told you I would have seduced you even if I’d known why you’re so vulnerable.”

Anger swelled up in her, nearly choking her for a moment. “For the last time, I am not vulnerable. And I’ll decide who I think is a jerk or not.”

He shook his head, his mouth twisting slightly. “You’re very naïve, Emma.”

“Yeah? Well you’re very full of yourself. Not everything is about you and your supposedly horrible, selfish self. I’m not a victim, Vanni. Did you ever consider I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing? Maybe I’m the selfish one,” she snapped before she walked over to her closet, stiff-backed. She jerked open a sliding door and stared blindly at her wardrobe. “And I haven’t got anything to wear to whatever . . . stupid, uppity restaurant you picked,” she added angrily.

He didn’t reply for several seconds. She just listened to her own escalated breathing in the billowing silence, her back to him. She was so sure the evening was ruined. Suddenly his hands were on her shoulders. Exhaling choppily, she felt his lips move on her nape. She closed her eyes and shuddered. Relief swept through her. So did liquid warmth, the strength of her arousal in this situation shocking her to the core. He turned her to face him.

“You’re the opposite of selfish. But maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if you were a little more cynical sometimes.”

“Really?”

He studied her face and frowned. “No,” he sighed. “Do you really forgive them for what they did?”

“You say forgive like it’s a dirty word,” she said. He just continued to pin her with his stare, waiting for an answer. “No, I haven’t forgiven Amanda yet. I’m working on it. It’s a process. For both of us. It’s not a black-and-white thing! How do you think forgiveness works, precisely?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he said blandly. “Certainly not in a similar situation.”

“She’s my only family. What do you expect me to do, throw her out on the streets? As for Colin, I don’t think he needs my forgiveness. He’s not going to be a major part of my life anymore.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t move. You’re very naïve, Emma.

He didn’t say it, but his remembered words hung in the air at that moment. Suddenly he kissed her temple very tenderly, taking her by surprise and sending a cascade of shivers through her and raising goose bumps along her arms.

“Go and shower. I’ll pick something out for you to wear.”

“You will?” she asked, amazed. Then she looked at the clothes hanging haphazardly in her closet and thought of his expensive, immaculately organized wardrobe.

“No, that’s all right.” She saw his small smile before he brushed his firm lips against her warm cheeks.

“I wish you’d stop getting embarrassed,” he said.

“Well it’s not something I can stop that easily,” she fired.

“I just mean,” he said in a low, patient tone, despite the sardonic arch of his eyebrows, “that I wish you wouldn’t, because there’s absolutely no reason in the world for you to be embarrassed. Ever,” he repeated succinctly. One glance into his hard gaze, and she knew he didn’t mean her lame wardrobe, but the embarrassment she’d experienced facing Colin and Amanda with him standing at her side.

She appreciated that.

Eying him warily, she went on tiptoe and slid her mouth against his. He smiled that smile she rarely saw before he bent down to take what she offered in deep earnest. Then he was turning her in the direction of the bathroom, and Emma tried to remember what she was supposed to be doing, so befuddled was she by his kiss.

“I won’t profess to being an expert at this, but I’ll figure something out. Go on,” he said. She glanced over her shoulder as she walked to the bathroom. He was scowling darkly at her closet like it was an unexpected but worthy challenge.

There was nothing he couldn’t do, she thought fifteen minutes later as he opened her bedroom door for her. He’d chosen a dark teal blue, sleeveless cotton dress and paired it with a thick, dark purple belt that went with another outfit. Emma wouldn’t have ever thought to put the two together but it worked fantastically. She took the two items from him, dubious at first, and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready.

The dress, which she had long ago forgotten about, looked brand-new with the belt to freshen it. The braided collar encircled her neck and left most of her shoulders and arms bare. She hadn’t spent a lot of time in the sun so far this year, but her skin still gleamed next to the teal of the dress. Then she added a long, gold necklace with a medallion at the end of it. It served to not only accessorize her outfit, but to accentuate the shape of her breasts in the draping fabric. Her hair was behaving tonight and waved softly around her face. She applied a little more eye makeup than was usual and a natural shade of lipstick.

The male heat in Vanni’s eyes when she exited the bathroom, along with a slightly smug smile, told her she was beautiful to him. She felt like she was pretty.

“I missed my calling,” he said, his mouth tilting as he opened the door for her.

“Something tells me you’re much more of an expert at undressing women than dressing them,” she told him under her breath as she passed.

“I’ll happily do both for you.” It was shameless flirtation, but Emma couldn’t resist. She’d like to meet the straight woman who professed she could resist Vanni when his blue-green eyes went heavy-lidded and hot. She paused and brushed her fingers across his angular, whiskered jaw and went on her tiptoes.

“Thank you,” she whispered before she kissed his mouth. He placed his hands on her shoulder and drew her closer, leaning his head down. Then he was kissing her deeply. Emma gave a muted moan, her body going soft and heated. He was like a Montand car, taking her from zero to a hundred in record-fast time.

“Emma?”

Emma started and broke the kiss, flustered. She turned, self-consciously wiping her lipstick-smeared mouth with the back of her hand.

“We’re just stepping out for a bit,” Amanda said uncertainly from the other end of the dim hallway. “We’ll talk when you get back from dinner?”

Emma opened her mouth to answer but Vanni took her hand and led her down the hallway. “Don’t wait up for Emma. She’s staying with me in the city tonight,” he said as they approached Amanda.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Emma told Amanda as they passed her.

Instead of taking the route that Emma would have—through the kitchen—Vanni led her through the living room. Colin stood there in his jeans and old college T-shirt, looking sideswiped. She had no doubt he’d heard what Vanni had said.

Which Vanni had intended, of course.

“See you,” Emma called to Colin as she hurried to keep up with Vanni’s long-legged stride.

Did she take any satisfaction from Amanda and Colin’s stunned expressions as they witnessed her in all her finery walking hand in hand with a gorgeous, powerful man who was light-years out of her league?

Maybe a little.

She was only human, after all.

She thought they’d go straight to dinner, but Vanni had something else in store. He parked in a newly built high-rise just across from the Art Institute.

“Where are we going?” she asked, staring around at the surrounding city once they’d taken an elevator down to the ground level and stepped out onto Michigan Avenue. It was a warm summer night. The glass-sided skyscrapers gleamed in the light of the setting sun. It was thrilling for her, not just to be in the midst of the city—which was uncommon enough for her, despite the fact that she was a native Chicagoan—but there with Vanni. There was a thread of unreality to the whole thing.

“I thought we’d catch the last half of My Fair Lady, if you’re up for it. I have season theater tickets, but rarely get to use them myself,” Vanni said as they walked across Monroe at the light, her hand in his.

“I’d love that,” she said, grinning. “I’ve never been to a show before.”

He gave her a sideways glance. “Never?”

“Do you ever look at the price of the tickets, or just have your secretary buy them for you?” she shot back. His eyebrows arched in a wry expression and she laughed. “I thought so. The theater definitely isn’t in a nurse’s budget, or at least so far it hasn’t been. But I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Well you’re here now,” Vanni said, opening a golden and glass door open for her to enter at the Shubert Theatre. “I only wish I’d known. I’d have insisted on making the first half.” She gave him a doubtful look, thinking about what they’d been doing instead of rushing to make the beginning of the show. His mouth quirked. “You’re right,” he said under his breath. “It was well worth it to miss the first half.”

She smiled, feeling so excited, she thought she might be glowing.

They had just enough time for Vanni to get them two glasses of champagne before the crowd started streaming out into the lobby for intermission. Her wonderment grew when he led her to a small, ornate balcony that looked down directly on the stage. They would have an amazing overview of the stage, but were still up front enough that they’d easily see the actors’ faces. There were eight velvet chairs in the space, but Emma saw no seat numbers.

“How do we know which ones to sit in?” she asked him.

“Pick whichever ones you want. It’s a private box.”

“And no one else is coming?”

Vanni just shook his head. She sat, staring down over the balustrade. She could see straight down in the orchestra box before the stage. He came down next to her, and she beamed at him.

“This is amazing,” she told him, not even trying to guard her excitement.

His eyebrows rose. “Is it?” he asked, taking a sip of champagne.

She gave the luxurious, empty box a sweeping glance and then looked pointedly at the ornate, gilded theater.

“Open your eyes,” she said, laughing.

Open your eyes.

Her joyful admonishment kept ringing in his ears as the play resumed a few minutes later. One thing was certain, he realized as he glanced sideways at Emma’s radiant expression as she watched the play.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

If she hadn’t confessed to this being her first theater visit, he would have touched her. And if that damn thing hadn’t happened at her apartment. He grimaced and looked away from her shining face, guilt swooping through him for his lascivious thoughts as the memory interceded.

He might have very well done more than touch her in the privacy of the box if he hadn’t seen that pinched, anxious expression on her face when she’d introduced him to that traitorous sister and bottom-feeder boyfriend of hers.

Ex-boyfriend, he reminded himself with a spike of vicious triumph.

He knew Emma said she didn’t mind, but he was furious that her sister invited Colin over to Emma’s home, and what was worse—the asshole actually came.

His gaze roved back to her. Her gleaming shoulders and arms beckoned him, just as the alluring shape of her breasts outlined by the draping fabric of her dress did. Yes. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she’d confessed this was her first time at the theater, or that teeth-grinding incident at her apartment, he would have traced that elegant line of her jaw with his fingers, and then his lips. He’d have inhaled the sweet, clean smell of her neck. He might have taken her to the shadow-filled rear of the box and touched her until he’d felt her quake against him.

His cock stirred. Yes, he was that selfish.

He took the last swallow of the chilled champagne and set it aside. He stared at the movement and color on the stage, not really taking much of it in. His gaze flickered back to Emma’s rapt profile as Eliza sang “Just You Wait.” He followed the shape of her cheek, jaw, neck, and thrusting breasts. For a moment, he just stared, enthralled, watching the delicate rise and fall of her breasts, his body hardening. The number came to a crescendo and she turned to him, her smile like a lance.

Her smile froze and faded when she saw him staring at her. What had she seen on his face? he wondered. Hunger, no doubt. Blatant lust. Her lips trembled. She swayed slightly toward him. He jerked suddenly, his fingers delving into her wavy, soft hair, cupping her skull. He put his head next to hers and inhaled her scent.

“Enjoy the play, Emma,” he whispered near her ear. His cock swelled and tingled when he felt her shiver. “Because later on, I’m going to have my fill of you,” he added darkly into her ear before he raised his other hand, and gently turned her chin so that she once again faced the stage.

He leaned back in his seat, teeth clamped tight, arm draped on the back of the empty chair next to him, lest he do something else with it. It was his fault. He could have just kept her in bed and had his fill of her. Tried to get his fill of her, he amended grimly. He’d hungered for her all week, the edge of anxiety about whether or not she’d come only amplifying his lust. He needn’t have insisted upon taking her out. It was just this prickling paradox he experienced around her, a desire for rational distance, an overwhelming need to draw her close . . . to witness that smile . . .

To be pounding high and hard inside her.

She turned her chin ever so slightly, regarding him with a mixture of wariness, excitement . . . and just a whisper of a challenge.

His body tightened.

How was it that her dark, shining eyes were so soft, and yet they cut straight to the core of him?

For Emma, there was magic in the summer night when they exited the theater. Vanni hailed a cab, which whisked them through the South Loop to the restaurant. She recognized that she was wide-eyed with awe when Vanni led her to the entrance of the renowned restaurant, but she couldn’t repress her excitement. Even when she recalled Vanni calling her naïve earlier, it didn’t diminish her happiness. Yes, she would likely think herself a fool at one point five weeks in the future when she had to say good-bye, but that moment wasn’t now. Now she would relish these nights she had with him, stamp them firmly in her brain. Some day, her memories would be all she had of this affair.

The maître d’ led them to a secluded table in the elegant restaurant, which gave them a stunning view from the fortieth floor down onto the glittering city. They talked about the play, and then his plans for the pioneering Montand French-American Grand Prix in the South of France. All the while, she sipped a dry white wine that seemed to open her senses even further, making the four-course meal beyond delectable. Or maybe it was just the man who sat across from her that honed her nerves. He made everything seem so sharp and sensual. She’d never tasted anything so delicious as the food served to her.

When she wavered in choosing from the dessert menu—everything looked so fantastic—Vanni grabbed her menu and handed it to the waiter.

“Bring her one of each,” he said dryly, and the waiter hastened to fulfill his demand. A flash of mortification went through her—her appetite had been embarrassingly good tonight—but then she saw the glint of humor in Vanni’s light eyes, and she laughed.

“I don’t understand why you are so worried the race you’re sponsoring will be a failure,” she said a moment later as the waiter served coffee. “You said you’ve sponsored dozens of racing events here in the States and that Montand Motorworks has its own racing team and cars. You seem experienced in the matter.”

“Formula One racing dominates in Europe, with very few exceptions.”

“What are Formula One cars like?”

“Like the ones you see in the Indianapolis 500.” She formed a mental picture in her mind of occasional glimpses of the race over the years and nodded. He continued. “Americans have become avid fans of stock cars, though,” he said, stirring his coffee thoughtfully. “My company sponsors stock car racing here in the States, and F1 racing in Europe, but this is the first time we’ve tried to do a stock car road race in France. You’ve heard of the Monaco Grand Prix? My race won’t be covering that specific route, but we’ll still be on very hallowed F1 racing ground.”

“And you’re worried the French will give your American cars the cold shoulder?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“And the drivers, yes. Although I’ve managed to convince some very big names in European racing to enter, including some major Formula One drivers.”

“And they all will drive stock cars?”

“That’s the agreement.” Something about his wry expression suggested to her that he’d wrestled and bargained considerably to get that agreement from the Formula One racecar drivers. He noticed her raised brows. “It helped having Niki as the Montand Formula One driver. He agreed to it, and then dozens of drivers signed on, if only for the chance to beat him at a game where he might show a weakness.”

“Niki Dellis is a racecar driver?” Emma asked, recalling the handsome, charming man at Cristina’s funeral.

“The best,” Vanni said simply. “He’s driven a Montand car almost since the beginning of his career.”

“Is Niki French as well?”

“Greek. Although he has relations in Italy, Monaco, and France. He comes from a very old family.” He seemed distracted for a moment, his long, blunt-tipped fingers caressing the handle of his coffee cup. Warmth infused her. It was a strangely erotic sight, his masculine fingers idly stroking the delicate china. “In fact, Niki is distantly related to Cristina.” Emma blinked in surprise. “Cristina and her sister were both renowned Italian socialites. Her sister is Maria Carboni.”

“The actress?” Emma asked, vaguely familiar with the curvy, tempestuous film actress who had transferred her success to Hollywood in the 1960s and ’70s.

Vanni nodded. “Maria is Niki’s grandmother, an older sister of Cristina’s. I try not to hold his relationship with Cristina against him,” he said with dark amusement. “But that’s how we met. He came and visited us in the States when he was ten, and we’ve been friends since.”

“When did your father marry Cristina?”

“When I was eight. Nine months after my mother died.”

He appeared entirely impassive saying it, but something struck her. She set down her coffee cup with a clatter she hadn’t intended. “Your mother passed away the year before Adrian did?” she asked weakly.

He nodded once. “I suppose someone like you would say it was a blessing.”

“What?” she asked, stunned and more than a little confused. “What do you mean someone like me?”

“Someone who believes that there’s meaning in something random like death,” he said. He noticed her stung expression. “Since my mother died young of leukemia, she never had to see one of her children die. That would have killed her on its own. You probably see that as a blessing. Meaningful. That’s all I meant. Of course, Adrian would never have died if she hadn’t died first, and if my father hadn’t felt the need to run off and find someone else to fill his bed and play mother to us. Someone entirely incompetent, at the latter task, anyway,” he added cynically under his breath.

She sat forward slightly. “Is that what you think?” she asked quietly. “That I don’t realize how hard it is, how sad, to lose someone you love, just because I told you about my experience with dying? That’s not fair, Vanni.” He blinked at the cold steel in her tone. “I still grieve my mother. I miss her every day of my life. Do you want to know the real reason I haven’t gone all self-righteous over this whole thing with Amanda and Colin?”

“I assumed it was a combination of the facts that you were ready for the relationship to end and that you’re a kinder, more forgiving and a much, much better person than I could ever be,” he said dryly.

Her expression fell a little at that. “It’s not that I’m kind or better than anyone. It’s just I . . .”

“What?” he asked, leaning forward, his elbows on the table, when she faded off. She suddenly felt very vulnerable and stupid, sitting in the midst of this glamorous, fairy-tale setting with a gorgeous, sophisticated man, exposing her heart. Surely her confessions were neither appropriate nor wanted.

“Emma?” he pressed, his gaze on her fierce.

She swallowed. He didn’t look like he wanted her to shut up. Just the opposite, in fact. Besides, she couldn’t be someone different than she was just to fit into his world.

“It’s just that I keep picturing how sad Mom would be if she knew Amanda and I had a falling out over something as insignificant, in the grand scheme of things, as a boy.”

He listened, then shook his head slightly, his mouth tight. “What they did to you was inexcusable.”

“Yes. But not unforgivable. At least that’s what I’m trying to do . . . get past it. It’s like I told you, it’s a process. At least it is in my case. With Amanda. You’d do the same, if you loved someone the way I do my sister. You don’t know her. She doesn’t go around doing stuff like this as a matter of course. She’s never done anything like this before, so I can’t help but feel that this thing with her and Colin is something major.”

Something flickered across his stony expression. He reached across the table and took her hand. “You’re wrong, Emma,” he said gruffly. “You really are a much better person than me.”

The distant sounds of china clinking and murmuring voices faded to a distant hum. Their gazes held, and she saw the warmth in his eyes. He may not agree with her choice of action when it came to Colin and Amanda, but he understood now. Better, anyway. They both knew what it was to lose someone and have an irreparable hole torn into your life. You behaved differently, at times, with the imagined ghost of that loved one looking on.

She was vaguely aware of someone passing the table. Vanni leaned back slightly and dragged his gaze off her.

“Excuse me,” he said. The waiter who had been passing paused. “We’ll take that dessert to go. And the check please.”

“You don’t want to eat it here?” she asked, dazed after the waiter hastened to follow his instruction.

“No,” he said, leaning back and dropping his napkin negligently on the table. “I want to give it to you.”

Her core clenched tight, his words taking on a distinctly charged, erotic meaning after the intimate moment they’d just shared. She placed her napkin on the table, her pulse flickering at her throat.

He clearly was intent on giving her something, and she had the thrilling feeling that it wasn’t just the dessert.