The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding by Jennifer Blake

it will only be
the two of us.””
    Amanda had certainly thought it might be less awkward if the
others were present. It was uncomfortable enough now, sitting there making stilted
conversation after what had taken place. “Will we be leaving soon?” she asked.
“Should I go and get ready?”
    “You might change into something cooler,” he said easily,
his gaze on the small cup of dark, rich espresso he was lifting to his lips.
“It is going to be a warm day.”
    She took that as an affirmative. Leaping up from her chair,
she left the terrace for the safety of the villa.
    Briefly, she considered changing clothes as suggested, but
it was a momentary weakness. The designer-label clothing that had appeared in
her closet was tempting, but far from what she had requested or could
comfortably afford. The fabrics were too fine, the luscious colors too light to
be practical. As for the fragile sandals or lacy, color-coordinated bras and
miniscule panties that had been added, forget it.
    She was perfectly fine in her suit skirt and the feminine
version of a man’s dress shirt that Erminia had laundered for her. She would
eventually find an opportunity to shop. Meanwhile, the less she owed Nicholas
de Frenza, the better.
    What had possessed him to kiss her again? Window dressing
for Carisa’s sake, that had to be it. He was clearly concerned for her well-being
in the midst of this emergency, would go to any lengths to keep her happy. She
could hardly blame him, but wasn’t sure she liked being a party to it.
    The ride to the hospital the evening before, and the meal
which followed, had been more silent than not. Both of them had been too worn
out from travel and strained emotions to make more than a minimal effort to be
civil. She was even too tired to renew the argument over going to a hotel. At
the end of the evening, she’d thanked him courteously for dinner and taking her
to see Jonathan again, and gone immediately to bed.
    Oh, yes, they were both courteous. Polite, even.
    A polite kiss…
    Right. If that was a mere polite kiss, she’d like to see a
passionate one.
    Or no, maybe not. Pretending to be his fiancée was enough
complication without adding hormone-fueled sexual attraction.
    All right, he was a handsome, dynamic man with great
internal strength and effortless charisma. She was suitably impressed by his
lifestyle, his home and the power he wielded. He raised her temperature, sent
her senses reeling with his sweet taste and fiery brush of his lips against
hers, and made her ache for his touch. But that was all.
    Yes, that was all.
    Soon she would be back in Atlanta and this episode would be
forgotten. She would banish all thought of Nico and the villa that carried his
family name. The only time they’d ever cross her mind was when she bought olive
oil.
    She might have to switch to corn oil, safflower oil, canola
oil, butter, anything except the olive oil.
    ~ ~ ~
    The car that sat on the front court when
she emerged from the house bore no resemblance to the conservative black
limousine that had transported them back and forth to Florence before. It was
powerful and sleek, a soft top Ferrari in a blue of such rich, jewel-like depth
that it hurt the eyes to look at it.
    Nico leaned against the door with his arms crossed over his
chest. It seemed clear that he had decided to dispense with a chauffeur.
    Amanda settled on the cream-colored, butter-soft leather
seat as he held the door for her. She glided her fingertips over the fine grain
in appreciation while Nico walked around to the driver’s side, but said nothing
when he dropped down beside her. Though she was becoming more intimidated by
his obvious wealth with every hour spent in his company, she refused to show
it. And in truth, it didn’t really matter except to make her feel more beyond
her depth.
    The last thing she wanted was to grow used to such luxury.
The sooner she returned to her ordinary life in the States, the better. And the
more often she