Cazlevara. An unexpected pleasure.’
‘Vittorio, please.’ His gaze swept her in an instant, his mouth tightening in what Ana recognized as that now familiar disdain. He didn’t even realize how he gave himself away, she thought with a strange little pang of sorrow. Was he going to try some more asinine flattery on her? She braced herself, knowing, no matter what, it would hurt. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted you,’ Vittorio said, and Ana gestured to her dishevelled clothes, even managing a wry smile as if her attire was not humiliating, despite him being dressed with such exquisite care.
‘I’m afraid I was not expecting visitors. I was out in the vineyard, as you can see.’
‘How are your grapes?’
‘Growing.’ She turned away from him, surreptitiously tucking in her blouse, which seemed determined on coming untucked at every opportunity. ‘The weather has been good, thank God. May I offer you refreshment?’
He paused, and she glanced back at him. His head was cocked, and he was studying her with a thoughtful thoroughness she decided she didn’t like. ‘Yes, thank you. It is a warm day.’
Did his eyes linger on her heated face, her sticky shirt? Ana willed herself not to flush even more. If even the Count of Cazlevara was going to arrive unannounced, he would have to take her as she was. ‘Indeed. Why don’t we adjourn to the tasting room? It is more comfortable in there.’ Vittorio gave a terse little jerk of his head, and Ana led the way to the room at the back of the winery that was meant for public gatherings.
The room was light and airy, with a vaulted ceiling and large windows that let in the late morning sunshine. A few tables, made from retired oak barrels, were scattered around with high stools. Ana sat down on one of the leather sofas positioned in one corner, meant for a more intimate conversation. She sat down, smoothing her dusty trousers and offering Vittorio another smile, bright and impersonal. Safe. ‘How may I help you, Vittorio?’ She stumbled only slightly over his Christian name; she wasn’t accustomed to using it, even if she had been thinking it to herself.
He didn’t reply, instead giving her an answering smile that showed the white flash of his straight, even teeth and said, ‘You’ve done well for yourself these last years, Anamaria. The Viale label has grown in stature—not to mention price.’
‘Please call me Ana. And thank you. I’ve worked hard.’
‘Indeed.’ He steepled his fingers under his chin, surveying her with that knowing little smile that she now found irritated her. ‘And you’ve stayed at Villa Rosso all these years?’
She gave a little shrug, trying not to be defensive. ‘It is my home.’
‘You haven’t wanted to travel? Go to university? See a bit of the world?’
‘I’m happy where I am, Vittorio,’ Ana replied, her voice sharpening just a little bit. ‘And I did go to university. I took a degree in viticulture at the University of Padua.’
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘I forgot.’ Ana almost asked him how he would have known such a thing in the first place, but she decided to hold her tongue. ‘Your father must be very glad of your dedication and loyalty to Viale Wines—and to him, of course. You’ve lived with him all these years?’
‘Yes.’ Ana tilted her head, wondering where these seemingly innocuous comments were coming from. Why did the Count of Cazlevara care what she had been doing these last ten or fifteen years? What interest could he possibly have in Viale Wines? ‘I cannot imagine doing anything else,’ Ana said simply, for it was the truth. Viale Wines had become her life, her blood. Besides her father and her home, she had little else. Vittorio smiled, seeming pleased by her answer, and an assistant bustled in with a pitcher of iced lemon water and two frosted glasses.
‘Thank you,’ Ana murmured and, after the assistant had left, she poured two glasses and handed one to Vittorio. ‘So,’ she said when they’d both sipped silently for a moment, ‘you’re back at last from your travels abroad. To stay this time?’
‘It would seem so. I have, I realize, been gone too long.’ His mouth tightened, his eyes looking hard, and for a moment Ana was discomfited, wondering just what had brought him back to Veneto.
‘Are you glad to be back?’ she asked and his eyes, still hard with some unnamed emotion, met hers.
‘Yes.’
Ana nodded. ‘Still, it must have been nice to see so many places.’ Could she sound more inane? She resisted the urge to wipe her damp palms on her trousers. She wanted to demand to know why he was here, what he wanted from her. This was the second time he’d sought her out, and she could not fathom why he was doing so. Why he would want to.
‘It was.’ He set his glass down on the coffee table with a quiet clink. ‘And it was, of course, business.’
‘Yes.’
Vittorio still gazed at her in that assessing manner, saying nothing. His silence unnerved her, made her edgy and a little desperate. She wasn’t used to feeling so at odds; she’d become accustomed to being in control of her own life, especially here at the winery, her own little kingdom.
‘Sometimes business and pleasure mix, however,’ he finally said, his words seeming heavy with meaning, and Ana gave a little nod and smile although she hardly knew what he was saying, or why.
‘Indeed.’ Her nerves now taut and starting to fray, she forced another little laugh and said, ‘I must confess, Vittorio, I don’t know why you’re here. It is good to have you back in Veneto, of course, but if I am to be frank, we’ve had very little to do with one another.’ There. It was said. If she’d been rude, Ana didn’t care; his presence, so confident—arrogant—and supremely male, unsettled her. It made her heart jump and her palms sweat and, worst of all, it made some sweet, nameless longing rise up in her like a hungry tide. She swallowed and kept her gaze firmly on him.
He leaned forward to take his glass once more, and the scent of his cologne—something faintly musky—wafted over her. Inadvertently, instinctively, she pressed back against the sofa cushions. He lifted his gaze to meet hers once more, yet she could tell nothing from those onyx eyes. They were as blank as polished marble. ‘Actually, Ana, I came to ask you to dinner.’
The words seemed to fall into the stillness of the room, and of her heart. Did he mean a date? she wondered incredulously, even as a sense of sudden fierce pleasure rushed through her. A date. When was the last time she’d been on one of those, and with a man like Vittorio Ralfino? She felt her cheeks heat—how easily she gave herself away—and to cover her confusion, she reached for her glass and took a sip.
‘I see I’ve surprised you.’
‘Yes.’ She pressed the glass against her hot cheek, lifting her gaze to smile wryly at him. ‘We have not seen each other in years and, in any case—’ She stopped, biting her lip, pulling it between her teeth and nipping it hard enough to draw a drop of blood. She tasted it on her tongue, hard and metallic. Vittorio smiled, his eyes on her mouth, and Ana knew he’d witnessed that traitorous little display of her own uncertainty.
‘In any case?’ he prompted gently.
She gave a helpless little shrug. ‘I’m not exactly the kind of woman—’ She stopped again, wishing she had not revealed so much. She didn’t know how not to; she was terrible at lying, or even dissembling. She could only speak her heart, always had. It had never been dangerous before.
And it had been so long—forever—since a man had asked her out. Since she’d even hoped a man might ask her out.
‘The kind of woman I take out to dinner?’ Vittorio filled in. ‘But how would you know what kind of woman I take out to dinner?’
‘I don’t,’ Ana said quickly, too quickly. ‘But I know—’ She stopped again. There was no way of saving herself or her pride, it seemed. ‘I am surprised, that’s all,’ she finally said, and pressed her lips tightly