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your life, Emma?’ he asked as he tossed another log on the fire. ‘I assume you don’t want to be a housekeeper for ever.’
‘Would there be something wrong with that?’
He gave a faint, bemused smile. ‘No, there’s nothing wrong with that. But you are a beautiful, capable young woman, and I imagine you want to see more of the world than a remote Sicilian hilltop.’
‘I like to travel,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve moved around a lot already.’
‘As a diplomat’s kid.’
‘Yes, and since I finished school. Itchy feet, I suppose.’
‘What did you study at school?’
‘I did a photography course just for a year, and then I got a backpack and a rail pass and went to see the world.’ Determined to enjoy everything life had to offer, never to be tied down, never to be hurt.
‘Sounds fun.’ He turned to her, an eyebrow arched. ‘I think I’ve seen you with a camera round the place. Have you taken photos here?’
‘Yes...’
‘May I see them?’
She hesitated, because no one had ever seen her photographs. No one had ever asked. And showing them now to Larenzo felt even more intimate than when they’d held hands. She’d be showing him a part of her soul. ‘Okay,’ she finally said. ‘I’ll go get them.’ She hurried up to her bedroom, and then leafed through several folders of photos before selecting a few of her favourites. She brought them back to Larenzo, handing them to him silently.
He studied each one carefully, a slight frown puckering his forehead as Emma waited, nibbling her lip. She realised she wanted him to like them, to understand them, and she held her breath as she waited for his verdict.
‘They’re not holiday snaps,’ he said finally and she let out a little laugh.
‘No.’ She preferred to take candid shots of people, strangers and sometimes friends caught in an unexpected moment, held in thrall by an emotion, whether it was happiness or sorrow or something else.
‘This one.’ He gestured to a portrait of Rosaria, one of the shopkeepers in Troina. She was sitting on a stool in the back of her bakery, her hands on her thighs, her head thrown back, her face a mass of wrinkles as she let out a deep, belly laugh. ‘That’s joy,’ Larenzo said quietly, and Emma’s heart swelled with the knowledge that he did understand, that he’d seen what she’d been trying to capture.
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt that.’ He turned to give her a swift, dark glance. ‘Have you?’
Shock rippled through her at the question, and the answer that slipped from her lips without her even realising she was going to say it. ‘No,’ Emma whispered. ‘I don’t think I have.’ She’d travelled the world, climbed mountains, scuba-dived, done a million and one adventurous and amazing things, had always considered herself a happy person...and yet joy? That kind of deep, abiding, real joy?
It had remained beguilingly elusive. And she hadn’t realised it until Larenzo had asked her the question.
‘You have a skill,’ Larenzo said as he turned back to the photographs. ‘A true talent. You shouldn’t squander it.’
‘I’m not—’
‘I mean you should exhibit these.’ He glanced at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘Have you shown them to anyone, to a professional?’
‘You’re the first person who has seen them.’
He held her gaze, his own darkening. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, and wordlessly Emma nodded.
The moment spun out, stretching and shifting into something else as their gazes remained locked and Emma’s breath shortened. A log popped in the fireplace and embers scattered across the hearth, but neither of them so much as twitched.
The desire Emma had felt before now crashed over her in an overpowering wave, obliterating rational thought, obscuring everything but this moment. She wanted this man more than she’d ever wanted anything or anyone before, and as she saw the heat blaze in his eyes she realised with a thrill he felt the same.
Slowly, deliberately, Larenzo reached one hand out towards her, his fingers first skimming her cheek and then his palm cradling her face. The warmth of his palm against her cheek felt electric, every nerve ending she had tingling and quivering with awareness. Larenzo’s thumb brushed her mouth, and her lips parted in expectation as a tiny gasp escaped. If he kissed her, she’d be lost. And she knew she wanted to be lost.
His hand tensed briefly against her cheek, and for a terrible second she thought he was going to drop it and move away. This glorious moment would be over. Then he brought his other hand up to frame her face, cradling her between his palms before pulling her inexorably towards him, his lips coming down on hers, soft and hard, cold and hot, everything all at once as a thousand new sensations blazed through her and her mouth opened to his kiss.
Larenzo hauled her towards him, her legs sliding across his as she straddled him, felt the hard press of his arousal against the juncture of her thighs and excitement pulsed hard inside her.
He was kissing her deeply now, with a hungry urgency that Emma felt in herself as she drove her fingers through his hair and pressed even more closely against him, her body arching instinctively as Larenzo pressed back.
After an endless moment that still didn’t seem long enough, Larenzo broke off the kiss, his breath coming out in a rush.
‘I wasn’t going to do that.’
‘I wanted you to do it,’ she whispered. She couldn’t bear it if he stopped now.
He leaned his forehead against hers, their bodies still pressed together, both of their hearts thudding. ‘I want you, Emma. I think I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone before.’
A thrill ran through her at this simply stated fact. ‘I want you too.’
‘But I can’t offer you anything other than this night.’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘A few hours at most. That’s all. That’s all it could ever be.’
‘I know,’ she said softly. When he’d kissed her, she hadn’t thought of anything but the moment, yet she acknowledged now that she’d never have expected some kind of commitment from a man like Larenzo. ‘I don’t want more than this night,’ she told him. ‘I’m not looking for some kind of relationship, Larenzo, trust me. I just want you, tonight.’
He leaned back a little so he could look into her face. ‘If you’re sure...?’
She nodded, amazed at just how sure she was. Everything about this night had been surreal, even magical. This felt, bizarrely and yet completely, like the logical and necessary conclusion. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Then come with me.’ He untangled himself from her and rose from the rug in one fluid movement, holding his hand down to help her up. With their fingers linked he led her silently upstairs to his bedroom.
Emma gazed at the king-sized bed with its navy silk sheets she’d changed herself and felt a tremor of—what? Not fear. Anticipation. And a little nervousness, because, while she was sure, this was still a new experience. An entirely new experience, and she didn’t want to admit to Larenzo just how new it was, how unlike her this decision had been.
He glanced back at her, his fingers still twined with hers. ‘Having second thoughts?’ he asked quietly, his gaze sweeping over her. ‘Cold feet? I wouldn’t mind.’ He let out a ragged laugh. ‘Well, I’d mind, but I’d understand.’
‘I’m not having second thoughts.’ She swallowed, lifted her chin. She wouldn’t tell him about her inexperience. It didn’t matter to her, and she didn’t want it to matter to him, or put him off. ‘Are you?’ she challenged, and he let out a soft huff of laughter.