Will their love be enough to overcome the obstacles, or should she leave Bella Italia and her mysterious billionaire lover behind once and forever?
“Are we disturbing your peace?” he asked in soft Italian, whispering as though in a graveyard. “Or are we doing the right thing and actually bringing you peace at last?”
There was no reply, of course. The dead can’t speak, though he knew from experience that they could haunt you in your dreams if you gave them permission to.
“I’ve seen many different methods how people tame a garden gone wild but this is definitely the first time that someone is trying to use verbal persuasion,” a voice broke into his gloomy thoughts.
Startled, Riccardo rocked back on his heels so fast he lost his balance and toppled onto the ground. With a mortified ‘mierda’, he scrambled to find his footing and his scraped dignity and saw himself confronted with a held-out hand.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Sighing, he accepted the help that he probably didn’t need because it seemed impolite not to do so. The American’s hand wasn’t as soft as one would have expected it. A hint of callouses and blunt though neatly rounded nails spoke of a woman who wasn’t afraid to get hands-on, just as he’d suspected from watching her. Her grip was firm and warm when she pulled him to his feet, and Riccardo belatedly remembered his manners and murmured his thanks.
“There’s no need to apologize. I should expect you somewhere on the property at all times.”
He let go of her hand, wondering why he felt this odd spark and tingle where their skin had touched. His gaze traveled up, taking in her navy-blue jeggings that were now dust-stained at one knee and her figure-hugging yet modest black T-shirt. She wore her hair bound together in a high ponytail, accidentally adorned with a fallen leaf. His fingers itched to pluck it out, to run through her hair and find out whether it was as soft as it looked.
Their gazes meshed, and she must’ve seen something in his that brought color to her cheeks and made her break the connection.
“It’s my duty to be everywhere,” she said somewhat brusquely, wiping her hand on her thigh. To get rid of whatever dirt he might’ve left on it? Or because she’d felt this tingle too?