Artie circled her wrist where his fingers had held her. A shiver shimmied down her spine as she recalled the tensile strength in his hand, the springy black masculine hairs that peppered his skin, the way his touch spoke to her flesh, awakening it, enlivening it, enticing it. He was temptation personified and she would be a fool indeed to allow her feelings to get the better of her. He had been clear about the terms of their relationship. Why, then, did she ache for more of his touch? Why, then, did she want to feel his mouth on hers again?
Artie sat in the main salon with her embroidery on her lap, when Luca came in. His hair looked tousled from the wind or the passage of his fingers or both. And he had changed out of his morning suit into jeans and a white cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled back to reveal his strong wrists and forearms. The white shirt highlighted his olive-toned tan, the blue jeans the muscled length of his legs. He brought in with him the fresh smell of outdoors and something else…something that made her female hormones sit up straighter and her senses to go on high alert.
She put the sampler she was working on to one side and crossed one leg over the other, working hard to keep her features neutral. ‘I wasn’t sure of your plans, so I got Rosa to make up one of the guest rooms for you. It’s on the second floor—the green suite overlooking the vineyard.’
His gaze held hers with a watchful intensity. ‘So, she knows our marriage is a hands-off affair?’
Artie moistened her lips, conscious of the slow crawl of heat in her cheeks. ‘Yes, well, I thought it best. I’m not the best actor when it comes to playing charades, and she’s known me a long time and would sense any hint of inauthenticity.’
‘I would prefer you not to tell anyone else about the terms of our relationship.’ His tone was firm. ‘I don’t want any idle gossip getting back to my grandfather.’
‘Rosa is the soul of discretion. She would never betray a confidence.’ It was the one thing Artie could rely on—the housekeeper was loyal and trustworthy to a fault. Rosa had never revealed Artie’s struggles to anyone and had always been as supportive as possible.
Luca came over to the sofa where she was sitting and leaned down and picked up the sampler she’d been working on. He ran his fingers over the tiny flower buds and leaves she had embroidered. ‘This is exquisite work. Have you been doing it long?’ he asked.
Artie shrugged off the compliment but inside she was glowing from his praise. No one apart from her father and Rosa had ever seen her work. ‘It’s just a hobby. I started doing embroidery after I got out of hospital. I’m self-taught, which you can probably tell.’
He turned the sampler over and inspected the other side, where the stitches were almost as neat and precise as on the front. ‘You undersell yourself, cara. You could start a small business doing this sort of thing. Bespoke embroidery. There’s a big swing away from factory-produced or sweatshop items. What people want these days is the personal touch.’
‘Yes, well, I’m not sure I’m ready for that.’ Artie took the sampler out of his hand and folded it and put it inside her embroidery basket, then closed the lid with a definitive movement.
‘What’s stopping you?’
I’m stopping me.
Her fear of the big, wide world outside the castello was stopping her from reaching her potential. She knew it but didn’t know how she could do anything to change it. How could she run a business locked away here? She met his probing gaze for a moment before looking away again. The thought of revealing her phobia to him made her blood run cold. What would he think of her? She had effectively married him under false pretences. ‘I’m happy leaving it as a hobby, that’s all. I don’t want to put myself under pressure of deadlines.’
‘Speaking of deadlines…’ Luca rubbed a hand down his face, the raspy sound of his palm against his light stubble making her recall how it had felt against her skin when he’d kissed her. ‘I’d like to make an early start in the morning. My grandfather gets tired easily, so the first part of the day is better for him to receive visitors.’
Artie blinked. Blinked again. Her pulse began to quicken. Her breathing to shorten. Her skin to tighten. She rose from the sofa on unsteady legs and moved to the bank of windows on the other side of the room. She turned her back to the room and grasped the windowsill with white-knuckled force. ‘Maybe you should go alone. I need more time before I—’
‘There isn’t time to waste.’ The intransigent edge to his tone was a chilling reminder of his forceful, goal-directed personality.
Artie swallowed a tight lump in her throat and gripped the windowsill even harder. ‘I… I can’t go with you.’
There was a beat or two of intense silence. A silence so thick it seemed to be pressing in on her from all four walls and even the ceiling. A silence that echoed in her head and roared in her ears and reminded her she was way out of her depth.
‘What do you mean, you can’t? We made an agreement, Artie. I expect you to adhere to it.’ His voice throbbed with frustration. ‘Be ready at seven thirty. I’m not taking no for an answer.’
Artie released her grip on the windowsill and turned to face him. Her stomach was roiling, her skin damp with perspiration, her mind reeling at the thought of going beyond the castello gates. ‘Luca, please don’t do this.’ Her voice came out sandpaper-hoarse.
He gave a savage frown. ‘Don’t do what? All
