version of a Botticelli Venus. Mac reached out for her hand. The one without the engagement ring.
“I love you, Sonora Sky Coto de Alvarez,” he whispered. And lifting her hand to his lips, he turned it palm up and kissed it, then closed her fingers around the kiss.
It was such an intimate gesture that Sunny felt the little answering shiver in the pit of her stomach.
“I love you too, Mac,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes.
But then the waiter broke the spell, bustling with importance as he detailed the night’s specials.
“Let’s share a small Margherita pizza to start,” Sunny said, all a-sparkle with love for her man. “Just to go with the first glass of wine.”
“No anchovies though,” Mac said, remembering she hated them.
Sunny smiled. This was a big concession on Mac’s part because she knew how much he loved them.
Mac studied the wine list carefully, finally choosing a Montepulciano. When it came the waiter poured a little into his glass. Mac swirled, breathed its aroma, and sipped.
Sunny liked wine, but Mac was an expert. She saw his face light up and he nodded to the waiter. “Good,” he decreed. “Excellent, in fact.”
They clinked glasses and toasted each other with their eyes. There was no need for words. This was, Sunny knew, going to be one of the best nights of her life. Here in Rome with her lover, who had just told her he loved her.
“I’m glad you invited me to Rome,” Mac said, sipping his wine and nibbling on a piece of the small anchovyless pizza.
“Funny, I thought you’d invited yourself,” Sunny said.
But to her surprise she realized Mac was no longer listening. Instead, he was looking at something over her shoulder. She turned and followed his gaze to the door.
“Well, well. Would you just look at that,” Mac said, sounding astonished.
Sunny stared at the couple standing at the entrance. You could hardly miss them. Or at least
her
. A redhead, on the arm of a rotund, balding man. There was nothing understated about this woman. Tall, with breasts that defied gravity, her waist was tinier than Scarlett O’Hara’s when Mammy had finished tying her corset, and her legs went on forever. She was spectacular in a white silk dress that left no curve unturned. Sunny caught a glimpse of the redhead’s ring. A
glimpse?
It almost blinded her. A yellow diamond that must have been all of ten carats.
And
it was on her engagement finger.
“Shoot,” she said crossly, turning back to Mac, but he was already on his feet.
“Excuse me a moment,” he said, then to her astonishment he walked over to the redhead and held out his hand.
“Hi, there,” he said to the Naughty Angel. “It’s good to see you again. I’m Mac Reilly. Last time we met was in Malibu. Remember?”
The redhead’s face turned chalky white. Her hand felt like iced velvet in his.
“Oh, how are you?” she said, in the high, breathy voice Mac remembered calling “sorry” after she’d shot at him.
“Good, thanks. I’ve gotten over those bruises I acquired tripping over your deck the other night.”
“Oh, that wasn’t
my
deck.” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
“I believe I have something of yours,” Mac said, still with the smile. “You left it in my car.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said too quickly. “I’m not missing anything.”
The rotund one gave a discreet cough and she turned her frightened green eyes from Mac to him. “Oh, Renato,” she said, “this is Mac Reilly. And this is Renato Manzini. My producer,” she added in case Mac might have other thoughts on their relationship.
The two men shook hands. The portly one put a possessive arm around the redhead’s waist. “Our table is ready,
carina,”
he said, already edging her away.
She glanced apologetically back at Mac. “Good to see you again,” she called as he watched them go.
Sunny was goggle-eyed when he returned. “It was
her
, wasn’t it?” she said.
“It was.” He took a sip of wine
“I love you, Sonora Sky Coto de Alvarez,” he whispered. And lifting her hand to his lips, he turned it palm up and kissed it, then closed her fingers around the kiss.
It was such an intimate gesture that Sunny felt the little answering shiver in the pit of her stomach.
“I love you too, Mac,” she whispered, gazing into his eyes.
But then the waiter broke the spell, bustling with importance as he detailed the night’s specials.
“Let’s share a small Margherita pizza to start,” Sunny said, all a-sparkle with love for her man. “Just to go with the first glass of wine.”
“No anchovies though,” Mac said, remembering she hated them.
Sunny smiled. This was a big concession on Mac’s part because she knew how much he loved them.
Mac studied the wine list carefully, finally choosing a Montepulciano. When it came the waiter poured a little into his glass. Mac swirled, breathed its aroma, and sipped.
Sunny liked wine, but Mac was an expert. She saw his face light up and he nodded to the waiter. “Good,” he decreed. “Excellent, in fact.”
They clinked glasses and toasted each other with their eyes. There was no need for words. This was, Sunny knew, going to be one of the best nights of her life. Here in Rome with her lover, who had just told her he loved her.
“I’m glad you invited me to Rome,” Mac said, sipping his wine and nibbling on a piece of the small anchovyless pizza.
“Funny, I thought you’d invited yourself,” Sunny said.
But to her surprise she realized Mac was no longer listening. Instead, he was looking at something over her shoulder. She turned and followed his gaze to the door.
“Well, well. Would you just look at that,” Mac said, sounding astonished.
Sunny stared at the couple standing at the entrance. You could hardly miss them. Or at least
her
. A redhead, on the arm of a rotund, balding man. There was nothing understated about this woman. Tall, with breasts that defied gravity, her waist was tinier than Scarlett O’Hara’s when Mammy had finished tying her corset, and her legs went on forever. She was spectacular in a white silk dress that left no curve unturned. Sunny caught a glimpse of the redhead’s ring. A
glimpse?
It almost blinded her. A yellow diamond that must have been all of ten carats.
And
it was on her engagement finger.
“Shoot,” she said crossly, turning back to Mac, but he was already on his feet.
“Excuse me a moment,” he said, then to her astonishment he walked over to the redhead and held out his hand.
“Hi, there,” he said to the Naughty Angel. “It’s good to see you again. I’m Mac Reilly. Last time we met was in Malibu. Remember?”
The redhead’s face turned chalky white. Her hand felt like iced velvet in his.
“Oh, how are you?” she said, in the high, breathy voice Mac remembered calling “sorry” after she’d shot at him.
“Good, thanks. I’ve gotten over those bruises I acquired tripping over your deck the other night.”
“Oh, that wasn’t
my
deck.” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
“I believe I have something of yours,” Mac said, still with the smile. “You left it in my car.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said too quickly. “I’m not missing anything.”
The rotund one gave a discreet cough and she turned her frightened green eyes from Mac to him. “Oh, Renato,” she said, “this is Mac Reilly. And this is Renato Manzini. My producer,” she added in case Mac might have other thoughts on their relationship.
The two men shook hands. The portly one put a possessive arm around the redhead’s waist. “Our table is ready,
carina,”
he said, already edging her away.
She glanced apologetically back at Mac. “Good to see you again,” she called as he watched them go.
Sunny was goggle-eyed when he returned. “It was
her
, wasn’t it?” she said.
“It was.” He took a sip of wine
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