Adonis. Showered and changed into different clothes . . . sipping a glass of wine . . . no doubt waiting for a hot date.
Julia glanced away, discomfited by the impression he was looking through her rather than at her. She took a sip of wine, trying to carry off a nonchalance she didn’t feel. She scanned the room, letting her eyes drift toward the dark corner again. Yep, still staring.
Maybe it was some kind of game with him. A form of “Who’ll blink first?” She wasn’t about to be drawn in by something so childish. She fished her phone from her small clutch and absorbed herself with checking for nonexistent texts, calls, and e-mails while the gentle rhythm of the Beatles’ “Across the Universe” played in the background of her mind.
Her salad arrived, giving her reason to look up again. She glanced to the back of the room, relieved to see Adonis had pulled out a pad and seemed to be sketching. But the forkful of luscious spring greens clogged her throat when he glanced at her and back to his sketch.
Was he sketching her? Oh, surely not. He was probably daydreaming about the woman who was on her way to meet him.
An elderly gentleman, elegantly dressed in a full suit, entered the restaurant. The maître d’ nodded in recognition, but a hand gesture told him not to bother with a menu.
The gentleman’s eyes scoured the room, landing on her and staying a fraction too long to be appropriate. A quick exchange with the maître d’ and then he headed in her direction. She absorbed herself in her salad and her phone again.
He stopped beside her table. “Buona sera, signora.”
Julia looked up with feigned surprise. “Buona sera.”
His head cocked in question. “You are English, yes?”
“American,” she corrected him.
He gestured to the empty seat next to him. “I see you dine alone.” His English was almost perfect. “Would you enjoy company?”
Was this a pickup? It had been so long since anyone had tried, she wasn’t sure how it was done these days. Even with the nap, jet lag had left her enervated and not in the mood for forced interaction. “No,” she replied, then felt a little ashamed of her curt reply. “But thanks for the offer,” she added.
He shrugged. “As you wish.” He turned in Adonis’s direction.
The younger man was watching their brief interaction with a look of keen interest. He quickly closed the sketch pad and pulled out the chair beside him, gesturing its availability to his elderly friend, but not before spearing Julia with a disapproving look.
She arched an eyebrow and shot the look right back as the two men greeted each other amiably. They spoke low and, of course, in Italian, so she wouldn’t have understood them anyway. But the telltale glances in her direction raised her suspicion she was the topic of a terse conversation.
Men like Adonis and Frank and Howard from the plane—and ninety-nine percent of their species—viewed the world as open season on women . . . thought at her age she should welcome any attention. Well, the welts of still-angry scar tissue that closed the tear where Frank ripped her heart out, as well as the ones that ran like vines across her breasts, were made of tougher fiber than the original and were pleasantly numb. They’d convinced her to come to Italy alone . . . to hike alone . . . she certainly could survive eating alone. She’d done it often. And while she didn’t particularly enjoy it—a part of her longed for companionship and conversation at the table—it by no means targeted her as easy prey.
Anyone who thought differently could go piss up a rope.
She swallowed another forkful of salad and washed it down with the wine.
The waiter arrived with her grilled fish entrée, and she welcomed the distraction although the conversation in the corner had moved on, and she no longer sensed the looks directed her way.
Her sea bass was half eaten when the two men got up and left after having only a glass of wine. Neither looked her way, which was no surprise.
The surprise came, though, when she asked for her check and the waiter informed her that it had already been paid “by the gentleman in the corner.”
She didn’t have to ask which gentleman. Adonis would never pay for a dinner without expecting something in return.
CHAPTER 4
Julia woke to the cheery brightness of morning in Italy. Well, morning, yes—but barely. The clock read 11:37—a far cry from her usual 6:30. These two days in Lerici were for preparation. A short three-mile hike today, and a bit longer seven-mile tomorrow . . . nothing like the long all-day walks she would be doing later. But these early ones would leave plenty of time for sightseeing and pool time. With a no-guilt attitude, she stretched languidly, embracing the air with her arms and the place with her heart, thankful to be alive and here.
The next ten days, hers alone. She would hike and eat and rest at her own pace, and day by day, she would win back the vitality stolen from her over the past two years.
Tap, tap, tap. The sound drifted up from the ground through the open door of her balcony.
Curious, she roused herself from the bed.
Adonis was back at work. As she watched, he hoisted a huge stone and carried it effortlessly to an unfinished area of stone paving that surrounded a sculpture near the pool. The sight of his backside once again proved as perfect as the front without the intimidating, piercing eyes.
Instead of dropping the stone with a thud as she expected, he carefully placed it on the ground and stepped back to study it.
Ah! A stonemason, then. A fitting job since he appeared to be made of the same matter.
So what did that imply about her work with antiques? She pushed the thought away.
He knelt and chiseled delicately around the edge of the rock, shaping it to snuggle tightly against the one it would rest beside.
Julia brewed a cup of coffee and decided to sit on her balcony, enjoying it along with the view. Invisibility had its advantages and watching Adonis unobserved was one of them. Today he wore a T-shirt, which pulled taut across his chest even when he wasn’t in motion. Drenched in morning sunlight, he was the epitome of raw masculinity with the heat shimmering off him like it did on the sea below.
The sculpture he was paving around drew her interest. An iridescent ball rested within what appeared to be a clamshell or a sunburst folded in half. The effect was that the ball could be a pearl or an eye or even the moon. She would check it out more closely if she found a time when the stonemason wasn’t around.
His dark eyes unnerved her yesterday with their piercing stare. They hummed with the same power she could see coiled in his movements now as he worked the hammer, the same power that resonated in his voice.
She wouldn’t want to get in this man’s way.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, he stood abruptly and threw his hammer in disgust. It thudded against the wall behind him. Picking up the stone he’d just placed, he hurled it and some colorful phrases in the direction his hammer had taken.
Julia chuckled at his temperamental actions. A stone that didn’t fit exactly the way he wanted? Big deal. Suck it up, pretty boy. If that’s the worst thing life throws at you, count your lucky stars.
He stalked off, and she redirected her attention to the view of the countryside.
Surrounding the hotel property, houses clung like plants to the hillside, a spring garden in pastel hues, drawing water and life from the jewel of sea below. Not a single cloud marred the infinite blue