“I don’t think so. Pour. I’ll be out in a minute.”
He shut the door, smiled again, and retrieved the white paper sack containing the coffee and rolls he’d bought. The guy behind the counter had recognized him, which had forced Ren into signing autographs for the man’s relatives, but he’d been feeling too good to mind.
The bathroom door swung open, and he nearly spilled his coffee. She stood framed in the doorway wearing only her black fringed shawl and the lacy red thong he’d bought on impulse yesterday.
“Is this what you had in mind?”
“Even better.”
She smiled, flicked her shoulders, and let the shawl drop.
By the time they got to the coffee, it was stone cold.
“I love San Gimignano,” she said as they drove home through the rain. “I could have stayed there forever.”
He hid his smile and turned the windshield wipers up a notch. “You’re going to give me money again, aren’t you?”
“Dude, if anybody’s handing out money for sexual favors, it should be you, because I was pretty darned good. Admit it.”
She looked so happy with herself he didn’t even think of disputing her. “You were world-class.”
“I thought so, too.”
He laughed and wanted to kiss her again, but she lectured when he took his hands off the wheel.
She let one sandal swing from her toes as she crossed her legs. “If you were to give me a number, what would it be?”
“A number?”
“A ranking.”
“You want me to
“Yes.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little demeaning?”
“Not if I’m the one asking.”
He was no fool, and he recognized a snake pit when he saw it. “Why do you want this ranking?”
“Not because I’m being competitive-don’t flatter yourself. I just want an idea of my current level of competence from the viewpoint of a recognized authority. How far I’ve come. And-in the interest of self-improvement-how far I have to go.”
“That ‘coming’ part…”
“Answer the question.”
“Okay.” He relaxed back into the seat. “I have to be honest. You weren’t number one. Are you all right with that?”
“Go on.”
He took a hairpin turn. “Number one was a highly accomplished French courtesan.”
“Ah, well, a Frenchwoman.”
“Number two spent her formative years in a Middle Eastern harem, and you can hardly expect to compete with that, right?”
“I suppose not. Although I do think-”
“As for number three, that’s iffy. Either a bisexual contortionist for the Cirque du Soleil or a pair of red-haired twins with an interesting fetish. Number four-”
“Just cut to the chase.”
“Fifty-eight.”
“Go ahead. Have your fun.”
“Oh, I am.”
She gave him a cute smirk and wiggled deeper in her seat. “I wasn’t serious anyway. I have way too much confidence in myself to care how you rank me. I just wanted to make you squirm.”
“I don’t seem to be the only one squirming. Maybe you’re feeling a little more insecure than you’re letting on.”
“It’s the thong.” She tugged at it through her skirt. “Truly a garment for desperate women.”
“I enjoyed it.”
“I noticed. You understand, don’t you, that you have to move back to the villa now?”
Just like that, she’d slammed him with the clapper board again. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m prepared to have an affair with you, but I’m not prepared for us to live together.”
“We were living together yesterday.”
“That was before last night.”
“I’m not stumbling back to the villa at five o’clock in the morning.” He punched the accelerator harder than necessary. “And if you think we won’t be sleeping together again, then you must have a short memory.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t stay overnight occasionally. I just said you couldn’t keep living at the farmhouse.”
“A fine distinction.”
“An important one.” Isabel understood the difference, and she suspected he did, too. She touched her bangle. She couldn’t stay centered unless she had plenty of time alone to catch her breath. “Our affair is only about having sex.” He took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot her his killer’s scowl, but she ignored it. “Living together complicates that.”
“I don’t see what’s so complicated about it.”
“When two people live together, they’re making an emotional commitment.”
“Wait a min-”
“Oh, stop looking so horrified. You’re only proving my point. We’re having a short-term physical relationship, with no emotional component. All you’re getting from me is my body. That should be good news.”
His expression grew blacker, something she didn’t understand, since she’d just outlined a perfect relationship from his point of view. He must be balking because she was the one who was laying out the terms. Predictable gender-driven behavior. But she couldn’t take anything for granted when it came to this man, and she plunged on. “Just to make certain we’re clear about this… as long as we’re having sex, we’ll both be faithful.”
“Will you stop talking about ‘having sex’? You make it sound like a flu strain. And I don’t need any lectures about fidelity.”
“I’m not lecturing.”
That made him laugh.
“All right,” she conceded. “Maybe I was lecturing. Go ahead. It’s your turn.”
“I get a turn?”
“Of course. I’m certain you have some conditions.”
“Damn right.”
She watched him try to think of a few and resisted the urge to make suggestions.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll move my stuff out as soon as we get back. But if we’re ‘having sex,’ I’m not going home afterward.”
“All right.”
“And if we’re
“Fine.” She uncrossed her legs. “But you can’t say ‘shut up.’ ”
“Shut up.”
“One other thing…”
“No other thing.”
“Last night you crossed a boundary. And just because I was mistaken about establishing that particular boundary, that doesn’t mean I want you to keep doing it.”
His eyes grew sly. “Tell me which boundary I crossed.”
