.

with you.’

      It was a beautiful morning—perfect for driving through sun-touched hills—the sky a deep, pure blue, studded with fleecy clouds. The wind was chilly but the sun was warm, and Alessandro rolled down the windows so the breeze ruffled their hair as he drove down the steep, winding road away from Villa Tre Querce.

      ‘I thought you’d be the kind of man to have a convertible,’ Meghan admitted as they drove.

      He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. ‘I’m not quite sure what that says about your opinion of me. But I did have a convertible once.’

      ‘What happened?’ Meghan teased. ‘You crashed it?’

      ‘As a matter of fact, I did,’ he replied flatly, staring straight ahead. Meghan opened her mouth to mumble some kind of apology, but the set of Alessandro’s jaw made her close it again.

      The day was too beautiful to dwell on anything unpleasant, and Meghan revelled in the sensual pleasure of wind and sun.

      They drove for nearly an hour on twisting, narrow roads, up hills and through valleys, villages huddled on the distant mountains, the spire of a church’s tower silhouetted against an azure sky.

      At the base of a particularly steep hill Alessandro pulled the car over and killed the engine.

      ‘Now we walk.’

      ‘Walk?’ Meghan held one hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun as she squinted up at road ahead of them, twisting steeply upwards into nowhere. ‘What’s up there?’

      ‘You’ll see.’

      She took his hand, warm, dry, strong, liking the way his hand encased hers.

      ‘Close your eyes.’

      ‘What?’ She jerked in surprise, withdrawing her hand by instinct, but Alessandro held onto it. His thumb caressed her palm, and Meghan suppressed a shiver, affected by the simple touch. ‘Why should I close my eyes?’ she asked.

      ‘Just do it.’ Alessandro paused, his eyes dark, intent. ‘Please. Trust me.’

      Trust him? Every instinct in her rebelled. She didn’t do trust. Except something deep within her heart, her soul, wanted her to trust this man.

      And that was the most frightening thing of all.

      Meghan glanced up at the road, at Alessandro’s steady gaze, then finally shrugged and laughed.

      ‘Why not?’ she said lightly, and, closing her eyes, let him lead her as if she were a child.

      The road was steep, and with her eyes closed Meghan felt as if she could tumble backwards into an abyss at any moment. Alessandro tugged gently on her hand, leading her onwards, upwards.

      ‘Keep them closed,’ he ordered sternly, and a bubble of laughter escaped her.

      ‘I’m trying.’ She stopped for a moment, chest heaving. ‘I’m also out of breath. I’m not used to this kind of hiking.’

      ‘I thought you’d been travelling around Europe.’

      ‘My general mode of transportation has been train or bus,’ Meghan returned tartly, ‘and I stick to the cities. I haven’t been wandering out in the hills like some Umbrian nomad!’

      He chuckled softly. ‘Now’s your chance.’

      With her eyes closed she was all the more conscious of the sun warm on her face, the dry scent of pine and cypress mixed with the heady fragrance of wild lavender and rosemary.

      She was also exquisitely, achingly conscious of Alessandro’s hand encasing hers, the way his fingers held hers lightly yet with such certainty, such possession. The way the simple touch seemed to reach inside and touch her where she was most vulnerable, most needy.

      Her heart. Her mind. Her soul.

      ‘Are we almost there yet?’ she asked, her voice coming out in a rusty croak. She tried instinctively to pull her hand away, but Alessandro’s grip only tightened.

      ‘Don’t be frightened.’

      ‘Who said I was scared?’

      ‘I can tell. We’re almost there.’

      Wherever ‘there’ was. Since they’d been walking she hadn’t heard another person or even a car in the distance. The only sound was the wind in the trees and the faint tinkling of a far-off goat’s bell.

      ‘Can you hear it?’ Alessandro asked softly.

      Meghan strained to listen, and realised she could now hear in the distance what sounded like rushing wind. The light breeze caressing her face could hardly cause such a sound, and she shook her head in confusion. ‘Yes, but what is it?’ She started to open her eyes again, only to have Alessandro cover them with his hand.

      ‘Don’t spoil it,’ he murmured. ‘A little bit longer.’

      The feel of his hand on her face, his thumb reaching down to caress her cheek, her lips, made Meghan stumble. Gently Alessandro tugged on her hand until she came forward, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him, her back against his chest, his other hand still covering her eyes.

      ‘Let me go,’ Meghan said breathlessly, even as desire—forbidden, treacherous, molten—coursed through her veins.

      ‘I don’t want to.’

      ‘What about what I want?’

      ‘But I don’t think you want me to, either.’ She could sense rather than see his smile. His hand still covered her eyes, his fingers brushing over her cheeks, her chin, her lips, as if he were memorising the touch of her. The feel of her.

      She sagged against him. She couldn’t help it. His chest was hard, unyielding, and yet she still seemed to mould herself to his contours. She felt the betraying hardness of his own desire against her back, and it only made her want to press closer.

      Her insides were turning to liquid; a pulse deep inside was thrumming to life. Her breath hitched and his thumb traced her half-open lips, ran along her teeth.

      His own breath feathered her hair, and he tilted her head upwards, still covering her eyes, and brushed her lips in the soft kiss of an angel.

      Meghan’s lips parted soundlessly, helplessly, and he deepened the kiss, turned it into something achingly sweet, wonderfully gentle.

      Desire was flickering, licking through her, weakening both her limbs and her resolve. She reached up with her fingers, tugged at the hand that covered her eyes.

      She wanted to look at him, and yet the feel of his lips plundering hers was so exquisite she didn’t want it to stop.

      ‘Alessandro …’ It came out as a whisper, a plea.

      He chuckled.

      She jerked back slightly, still caught in his embrace, his hand still covering her eyes. ‘You think this is funny?’

      ‘A bit,’ Alessandro replied, unperturbed. ‘But enough. I want you to see me when I make love to you. I want you to look into my eyes and see how I want you.’

      He paused, his thumb outlining the fullness of her mouth again. Meghan’s lips parted in silent invitation. She couldn’t help it.

      ‘And I want to see in your eyes how you want me.’

      He removed his hand from her waist and led her onwards once more. ‘Keep them closed,’ he warned, and dropped his hand from her face.

      Meghan longed to open her eyes—if just to see the expression on Alessandro’s face. Smug because he’d made her want him so easily? Would there be the residual flicker of desire in own brilliant eyes?

      Somehow she kept them closed. It had become a matter of pride. Of trust.

      He tugged her along the stony path and she followed, her limbs still