Men In Uniform: Captivated By The Prince. Lynn Raye HarrisЧитать онлайн книгу.
the table where their breakfast buffet had been laid out only to return with some warm bread rolls. ‘You’ll need your strength today.’
‘Need my strength?’ Emily said suspiciously. ‘For what?’
‘We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.’
Watching him tear into his own roll, and stab at a plate of cheese with the energy of ten, Emily felt her spirits take a dive. Hiking, she guessed—at the very least. Mountaineering, probably—both of which filled her with dread. ‘You mean a day of physical activities?’
‘Mmm,’ Alessandro confirmed gruffly, his eyes glittering with a dangerous light. Draining his coffee cup fast, he pushed it away. ‘Grape-treading,’ he rapped purposefully.
‘Grape-treading?’ Emily echoed, following him with her eyes as he strode to view the massed fields of vines through the open window. The occasion was sure to be fascinating to watch, she thought. Her glance embraced Alessandro’s powerful forearms and the broad sweep of his chest. What part would he play in the proceedings? she wondered, hoping it would require him to strip to the waist again.
‘What?’ he demanded, thrusting his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans as he turned around. ‘What are you staring at?’ he repeated, more insistently.
Emily tore her gaze away from the well-muscled thighs so tantalisingly defined in snug-fitting denim. ‘Nothing,’ she said dismissively, with a flip of her hand. ‘I’d like that very much. For you to take me to the grape-treading, I mean.’
‘Good.’
That voice again, she realised, turning her face away so that he couldn’t see her reddening under his calculating and extremely disturbing gaze. ‘I had no idea that such archaic practices survived,’ she said, rustling up her most professional manner.
‘Just about everything is mechanised these days.’ Alessandro said, accommodating her approach. ‘But for the highest quality wines only an experienced eye can judge the grapes. So we keep our vines low and pick by hand. It is hard work, and must be completed quickly before the heat of the sun raises acidity levels.’
She tensed as he prowled closer. ‘I see…’
‘Oh, do you?’ he murmured sardonically, somewhere very close to her ear.
‘But surely you can’t tread all those grapes out there?’ she said edgily, staring fixedly out of the window as she waited for her face to cool down.
‘Of course not, ‘ Alessandro said, standing right beside her. ‘The grape-treading is purely symbolic. It marks the start of the harvest.’
He refused to take the hint as she moved away, and suddenly was right in front of her again.
Glancing from side to side, Emily realised she was boxed into a corner between an old oak dresser and a bookcase. How on earth had that happened? she wondered, sagging with relief when he moved away.
‘Different varieties of grape ripen at different times,’ he continued evenly, as if their game of tag, at which he was clearly a master, had never taken place. ‘And when they are all safely gathered in we celebrate, with a proper Festa del Villaggio. The custom of treading some of the grapes the old way after the first picking is said to placate the forces of nature.’
Emily began to relax. The history of the grape was surprisingly interesting…or perhaps it was more relief that, having distracted them both by explaining it, Alessandro was allowing the sexual tension between them to ease. She inclined her head to demonstrate her fascination with the subject, hoping her body would take the hint and calm down, too.
‘It is also carried out to ensure good weather,’ Alessandro went on, in the same soothing tone. Without any warning, he crossed the room, seized her arms, and held her close. ‘So, Emily,’ he demanded impatiently, ‘will you come?’
‘I’d love to.’ After all, she persuaded herself as his hands relaxed, the chance to get to know her husband a little better, to see him interacting with the villagers, was an opportunity that might never come again.
‘Great. You’ll have to get changed first.’
‘You mean it’s today—right now?’ She should have guessed! ‘Why can’t I go like this?’
‘Well, if you want to look like you’re heading for court—’
‘Without a jacket—?’As she pulled a face his lips tugged up in a half-smile. ‘You’re teasing me.’
‘Am I?’ he murmured provocatively.
‘OK, so now what? Point me in the direction of the nearest shops?’ Emily demanded, confronting Alessandro, hands on hips when he started laughing. ‘Please, Alessandro. Don’t be difficult. I want to go with you. Just tell me where the shops are and I’ll go and buy something suitable to wear.’
‘OK. I’ll take you.’
‘Thank you,’ Emily said graciously.
‘We can walk there,’ he said, when she stopped at the passenger door of the four-wheel drive he’d told her he used to get about the estate.
‘Walk?’ Emily couldn’t imagine how she had missed a dress shop as they drove through.
‘Certainly,’ Alessandro said, striding away in the direction of the fields. ‘It will only take ten minutes or so to reach Maria Felsina’s cottage.
‘Cottage?’ Emily demanded, increasing to a trot to keep up.
‘You’ll see. Come on,’ he urged, speeding up again. ‘We haven’t got all day. You don’t want the grape-treading to start without us, do you?’ he called over his shoulder.
A suspicion had taken root in Emily’s mind. ‘You mean we’ll actually be taking part?’
Alessandro’s loafers slapped rhythmically against the hard-baked earth. ‘Of course,’ he called back. ‘Why else would we be going?’
‘I don’t know…I’m not—’
‘Not what?’ Alessandro demanded impatiently. He blazed a stare at her. ‘Do you want to come with me?’
‘Of course I do. But—’
Taking her arm in a firm grip, Alessandro marched on in silence.
As they stood in front of the modest dwelling, waiting for the door to open, Emily still felt bemused at the possibility of shopping for clothes inside such a tiny cottage.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ Alessandro said as he turned to look down at her.’ Maria will find you something to wear.’
Emily made a conscious effort to relax. ‘I’m fine,’ she said.
All the signs of a much loved home surrounded them. There wasn’t a single weed to be seen in the garden, and the colourful flowerbeds to either side of the newly swept path were crammed with blooms. The shuttered windows beside the front door were underscored with planters overflowing with blossom, while heavily scented climbers jostled for space around the doorframe.
Closing her eyes, Emily tried to concentrate on the sounds of the bees buzzing and the birdsong; the mingled perfume of flowers, all so delightful and distinctive. Had she been alone, she might have succeeded. But Alessandro was standing very close, claiming every bit of her notice—and why was he making such a fuss about kitting her out for the grape-treading? Surely she would only need to roll up her trouser-legs and don some sort of overall—?
She came to full attention as the door swung open. A short, generously proportioned woman, as creased and as brown as a walnut, slapped her hands together when she saw Alessandro and cried out with pleasure,’ Alessandro! Piccolino!’
‘My nanny,’ Alessandro explained, swinging the old lady off the ground with an answering shout.
Emily watched as a frantic exchange of questions and answers ensued