‘No.’ Rome was grinning. ‘Merely human at last, mia cara.’ And he raised his glass in a teasing toast.
As the meal proceeded, Cory found to her surprise that she was beginning to relax, and even enjoy herself.
The conversation was mainly about food. It was a nice, safe topic, but even so Cory found herself silently speculating about the man opposite her, talking so entertainingly about Cajun cooking.
Rome’s life might now be centred on an Italian vineyard, but it was obvious that he was a cosmopolitan who’d travelled extensively. There was still so much she couldn’t fathom about him, she thought restlessly.
She wondered about his parentage, too. His mother presumably had been Italian, so he must have derived those astonishing blue eyes from his unknown father. An English tourist, she thought, with an inner grimace, enjoying a holiday fling with a local girl, then going on his way without knowing a child would result. However strong Rome’s mother had been, she would have had to struggle in those early years.
And how had an illegitimate city boy ended up growing wine in the Tuscan countryside?
No, she thought. There were still too many unanswered questions for her to feel comfortable in his company. So it was as well she had no intention of seeing him again—wasn’t it?
The tiny chicken simmered in wine and surrounded by baby vegetables was so tender it was almost falling off the bone, and Cory sighed with appreciation as she savoured the first bite.
‘You are a pleasure to feed.’ Rome passed her a sliver of calves liver to taste. ‘You enjoy eating.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘You’re so slim, I’d half expected you to be on a permanent diet like so many women,’ he acknowledged drily.
Cory shook her head. ‘I’m not slim, I’m thin,’ she said. ‘But no matter how much I eat, I never seem to put on weight.’
He said softly, ‘Perhaps, mia cara, all you need is to be happy.’
The words seemed to hang in the air between them.
She wanted to protest—to bang the table with her hand and tell him that she was happy already. That her life was full and complete.
But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she found herself remembering the scent of his skin, the hard muscularity of his chest as he’d held her. The warm seductive pressure of his mouth in that endless kiss…
And she felt the loneliness and fear that sometimes woke her in the night charge at her like an enemy, tightening her throat, filling her mouth with the taste of tears.
She bent her head, afraid that he would look into her eyes and see too much.
She said in a small, composed voice, ‘Please save your concern. I’m fine. And this is the best chicken I’ve ever had.’
She resisted a temptation to refuse dessert and coffee and plead a migraine as an excuse to cut the evening short. Because something told her that Rome would recognise the lie, and realise he’d struck a nerve. And she didn’t want that. Because already he saw too much.
Instead she embarked on a lively account of her one and only visit to Italy on a school cultural exchange visit.
‘The school we stayed at in Florence was run by nuns,’ she recalled. ‘And every night we could hear them turning these massive keys in these huge locks, making sure we couldn’t escape.’ She lowered her voice sepulchrally, and Rome laughed.
‘Would you have done so?’ He poured some more wine into her glass.
‘I got to a point where I felt if I saw one more statue or painting I’d burst,’ Cory confessed. ‘I never knew there could be so many churches, or museums and galleries. We never seemed to have a breathing space. And, really, I’d rather have spent every day at the Uffizi alone.’
‘But you weren’t allowed to?’
She shook her head. ‘The teachers hustled us round the city at light speed. They seemed to think that if we stood still for a moment we might be abducted—or worse.’
‘Perhaps they were right,’ Rome murmured. He paused. ‘Will you ever go back there?’
‘Perhaps one day. To wander round the Uffizi at my own pace.’
He was silent for a moment. Then, ‘Florence is a great city, but it isn’t the whole of Tuscany,’ he said quietly. ‘There is so much else to see—to take to your heart.’ He drank some wine. ‘It would make a wonderful place for a honeymoon.’
Cory took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure it would,’ she said coolly. ‘And if I should happen to marry, I’ll keep it in mind.’
‘You have no immediate wedding plans?’ He was playing almost absently with the stem of his glass.
She said crisply, ‘None—and no wish for any.’
‘How sure you sound.’ He was amused. ‘Yet tomorrow you might meet the man of your dreams, and all your certainties could change.’
The last time I dreamed of a man, Cory thought with a pang, it was you…
Aloud, she said, ‘I really don’t think so.’ She picked up the dessert menu and gave it intense attention. ‘I’ll have the peach ice cream, please—and an espresso.’
‘Would you like some strega with your coffee, or a grappa, perhaps?’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But no.’ Because it’s nearly the end of the evening, and I need to keep my wits about me, she added silently.
She ate her ice cream when it came, and sampled some of Rome’s amaretto soufflé, too.
Alessandro himself brought the small cups of black coffee. He said something in Italian to Rome, who responded laughingly.
Cory was convinced they were talking about her. She was already planning in her mind how to couch her refusal when Rome asked to see her again, which she was sure he would.
Alessandro turned to her. ‘You enjoyed your dinner, signorina?’
‘It was wonderful,’ she said. ‘Absolutely delicious. Far better than the steak and salad I was planning.’
‘So lovely a lady should never eat alone,’ Alessandro told her with mock severity, and went off smiling.
To Rome, she said politely. ‘Thank you. It was a very pleasant evening.’
‘Pleasant?’ His mouth was serious, but his eyes were dancing. ‘Now, I’d have said—interesting.’
‘Whatever.’ Slightly disconcerted, Cory reached for her bag. ‘And now I must be going. It’s getting late.’
Rome glanced at his watch. ‘Some people would say the evening was just beginning.’
‘Well, I’m not one of them,’ Cory said shortly. ‘I have work tomorrow.’
He grinned at her. ‘And anyway, you cannot wait to run away, can you, mia cara?’
He came round the table and picked up her wrap before she could reach it herself. As he put it round her, she felt his hands linger on her shoulders, and the faint pressure sent a shiver ghosting down her spine, which she told herself firmly was nerves, not pleasure.
She took a step away from him. Her voice sounded over-bright, and her smile rather too determined as she turned to face him. ‘Well—goodnight—and thanks again.’
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘Isn’t that a little premature?’ he drawled. ‘After all, I have still to see you home.’
‘Oh, but there’s no need for that,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s only a short distance—’
‘I