“Not exactly true. The Personal Relationship Cornerstone calls for aggressively pursuing your goals, and the Professional Responsibility Cornerstone encourages out-of-the-box thinking. Also, something very dishonest seems to be going on here, and the Spiritual Discipline Cornerstone advocates total honesty.”
“Spying, of course, being a great way to practice that.”
“Which has always been a problem with the Four Cs. They don’t give you a lot of wiggle room.”
He laughed. “You’re making this way too complicated. I’m talking to Anna.”
“Go ahead, but I’m telling you right now, you won’t get anywhere.”
“Is that so? Well, you’ve forgotten one thing, Ms. Know-It-All.”
“And what’s that?”
“I have ways of making people talk.”
“Then be my guest.”
Unfortunately, his ways didn’t work with Anna Vesto, and Ren returned to the farmhouse later that evening with no more information than when he’d left.
“I told you so,” she said to punish him for the afternoon she’d spent sitting in the arbor thinking about that vineyard kiss instead of working on an outline for her book about overcoming personal crisis.
He refused to take the bait. “She said there’d been some small landslides, and the men can’t start digging until they make certain the hill’s stable.”
“Strange that they had to go inside the storehouse-undoubtedly the most stable part of that slope-to begin making reinforcements.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
They were standing in the kitchen, where Ren had just begun dinner preparations. He’d moved into her house, mess and all, and she hadn’t done anything to stop it.
She took a sip of the wine he’d poured, and leaned against the counter to watch as he pulled the chicken he’d bought from the small refrigerator. He sharpened a wicked-looking carving knife with a steel he found in a drawer. “When I mentioned to Anna that the storehouse didn’t seem like the most logical place to start making reinforcements, all I got were shrugs, along with the suggestion that Italian workmen knew a lot more about landslides and well-digging than a worthless American movie star does.”
“Except more politely stated.”
“Not much. Then that five-year-old exhibitionist came running in and flashed me. I swear, I’m not going up there again without a personal bodyguard-meaning you.”
“Brittany’s just trying to get attention. If everyone would ignore her negative behavior and reinforce the positive, she’d stop doing it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one being stalked.”
“You do have a way with women.” She smiled and took another sip of wine. “How are Tracy and Harry doing?”
“She wasn’t there, and Harry ignored me.” He pushed aside a yellow plate holding the pears he’d bought at the market. “Okay, this is how we’re going to solve the mystery of what’s going on around here. We’re announcing to everyone that we’re driving to Siena for the day. Then we’ll pack up the car, head off, and when we get far enough away, double back and find a vantage point where we can watch the olive grove.”
“Interesting plan.
“Actually, that’s what
“Okay.”
He cocked one of those screen-idol eyebrows. “In the movies this is where the liberated woman tells the macho hero that he’s crazy if he thinks he’s going on that dangerous mission without her.”
“Which is why you, the bad guy, are always able to abduct those foolhardy females.”
“I don’t think you have to worry too much about Massimo or Giancarlo abducting you. Tell Father Lorenzo the truth. You don’t want to compromise your principles with spying, so you’re making me do the dirty work.”
“Good theory, but wrong. When it comes to a choice between boiling in the hot sun all day and strolling through the shady streets of Siena, guess which one I’d rather do?” Besides, strolling the streets of Siena wouldn’t present the same temptation as spending hours alone with Ren. Even though she’d almost positively decided to have an affair with him, she wanted to give herself another chance to regain her sanity.
“You’re the most unpredictable woman I’ve ever met.”
She took an olive from the bowl on the counter. “Why are you so anxious to send me off to Siena?”
He pushed aside a thigh with the edge of his blade. “Are you nuts? About five minutes into the stakeout you’d be dusting the weeds and rearranging the leaf piles. Then, when you finished all that, you’d start trying to tidy me up, and I’d have to shoot you.”
“I know how to relax. I can do it if I concentrate.”
He laughed. “So do you plan to just stand around entertaining me, or do you want to learn something about cooking?”
She smiled despite herself. “I’ve actually been thinking about taking a few cooking classes.”
“Why take classes when I’m here?” He washed the chicken from his hands in the sink. “Start cleaning those vegetables, then cut up the pepper.”
She gazed at the chicken he’d just finished dismembering. “I’m not sure I want to do any activity with you that involves knives.”
He laughed, but as he gazed down at her, his amusement faded. For a moment he seemed almost troubled, but then he dropped his head and slowly, thoroughly, kissed her. She tasted wine on his lips and something else that was distinctly Lorenzo Gage-strength, cunning, and a thinly veiled vicious streak. Or maybe she’d made up that last one to try to terrify herself out of what she wanted to do with him.
He took his time drawing away. “Are you ready to start talking about cooking, or do you intend to keep distracting me?”
She made a grab for the small spiral-bound notebook she’d left on the table. “Go ahead.”
“What’s that?”
“A notebook.”
“Well, put it away, for chrissa-for Pete’s sake.”
“These are supposed to be lessons, aren’t they? I need to understand the principles first.”
“Oh, I’ll just bet you do. Okay, here’s a principle for you: She who works, eats. She who writes crap in a notebook, starves. Now, get rid of that and start slicing up those vegetables.”
“Please don’t use the word ‘slice’ when we’re alone.” She opened the nearest drawer. “I need an apron.”
He sighed, grabbed a dish towel, and wrapped it around her waist. But when he’d finished tying it, his hands stayed on her hips, and his voice developed a husky note. “Get rid of your shoes.”
“Why?”
“Do you want to learn to cook or not?”
“Yes, but I don’t see- Oh, all right.” If she protested, he’d just say she was being rigid, so she kicked off her sandals. He smiled as she tucked them under the table, but she didn’t see anything amusing about leaving a pair of shoes out where anyone could trip over them.
“Now, open that top button.”
“Oh, no. We’re not doing-”
“Quiet.” Instead of arguing, he reached out and did the job himself. The material fell away just enough to reveal the swell of her breasts, and he smiled. “Now you look like a woman a man wants to cook for.”
She thought about buttoning it back up, but there was something intoxicating about standing here in a fragrant Tuscan
She set to work, and as she rinsed and sliced, she was conscious of the worn, cool tiles beneath her feet and the tickle of evening air brushing the tops of her breasts. Maybe there was something to be said for looking like a slattern, because she loved the way he kept gazing at her. It was oddly satisfying to be appreciated for her body instead of her brain.
They got their wineglasses mixed up, and when he wasn’t looking, she discreetly turned his so she could drink from the place where his lips had touched. The silliness pleased her.
