mean this to be a true marriage.’ He paused. ‘A proper marriage, a marriage in every sense of the word.’
Naïve virgin she may be, but Ana still knew what Vittorio was talking about. She could imagine it all too easily. Or almost. She closed her eyes briefly, but if she wanted to banish the image, she failed. It came back clearly, emblazoned on her brain. An antique four-poster, piled high with pillows and cushions. Vittorio, naked, tangled in sheets. Magnificent. Hers.
Ana turned back to the billiards table. ‘So,’ she said, blindlylining up a shot, ‘you mean sex.’ She didn’t—couldn’t—look at him, even as she kept her voice nonchalant. She missed her shot entirely.
‘Yes.’ Vittorio sounded completely unmoved. ‘I’d like children. Heirs.’
‘Is that really why you’re marrying?’
He hesitated for only a second. ‘The main reason,’ he allowed and Ana felt a ripple of disappointment, although she hardly knew why. Of course a man like Vittorio wanted children, would marry for an heir. Heirs. He was a count; he had a title, a castle, a business, all to pass on to his child. A hoped-for son, no doubt. Her son. The thought sliced through her, shocking her, not an altogether unpleasant feeling. Vittorio arched his brows. ‘Do you want children, Ana?’
There was something intimate about the question, especially when he spoke in that low, husky tone that made her insides ripple and her toes curl. She’d never expected to have such a fierce, primal reaction to him. It was instinctive and sensual, and it scared her. She turned away.
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘You only suppose?’
‘I never thought to have children,’ she admitted with a bleak honesty that turned her voice a bit ragged. ‘I never thought to have the opportunity.’
‘Then this marriage suits us both.’
She gave a little instinctive shake of her head. He spoke as if it were agreed, the proverbial done deal. It couldn’t be that easy. She couldn’t be that easy. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’ He’d moved closer to her; she could feel him by her shoulder, the heat and the musk of him.
‘We’re talking about marriage, Vittorio. A lifetime commitment.’
‘So?’
‘Such a decision requires some thought.’
‘I can assure you I have thought of it a good deal.’
‘Well, I haven’t.’ She turned around, suddenly angry. ‘I haven’t thought about it at all .’
He nodded, annoyingly unperturbed. ‘You must have questions.’
She didn’t answer. Of course she had questions, but they weren’t ones she necessarily wanted to ask. Why do you want to marry me? What if we hate each other? Do you even desire me at all?
Why am I so tempted?
She looked up, taking a breath. ‘I don’t even know what you think of marriage…of a wife. What would you expect of me? How would we…get on…together?’ It seemed ridiculous even to ask the questions, for surely she wasn’t seriously considering his outrageous proposal. Yet, even so, Ana was curious. She wanted to know the answers.
‘We’d get on together quite well, I imagine,’ Vittorio replied easily. Ana wanted to scream.
You’re not attracted to me , she wanted to shout. I saw how you looked at me in that first moment—you summed me up and dismissed me! And now you want to marry me?
She’d convinced herself she could live without love. But desire? Attraction? Could she give her body to a man who looked at her with disdain or, worse, disgust? Could she live with herself, if she did that, day after day?
‘Ana, what are you thinking?’ Vittorio’s voice was gentle, concerned. She almost wanted to tell him, yet she knew she couldn’t bear the truth of his confession, or the deception of his denial. She let out a long shuddering breath.
‘Surely there are other women who fulfil your criteria,’ she said at last.
Vittorio shook his head. ‘No. There are few women with your knowledge of wine, Ana, or of this region. And of course your vineyard combined with
Naïve virgin she may be, but Ana still knew what Vittorio was talking about. She could imagine it all too easily. Or almost. She closed her eyes briefly, but if she wanted to banish the image, she failed. It came back clearly, emblazoned on her brain. An antique four-poster, piled high with pillows and cushions. Vittorio, naked, tangled in sheets. Magnificent. Hers.
Ana turned back to the billiards table. ‘So,’ she said, blindlylining up a shot, ‘you mean sex.’ She didn’t—couldn’t—look at him, even as she kept her voice nonchalant. She missed her shot entirely.
‘Yes.’ Vittorio sounded completely unmoved. ‘I’d like children. Heirs.’
‘Is that really why you’re marrying?’
He hesitated for only a second. ‘The main reason,’ he allowed and Ana felt a ripple of disappointment, although she hardly knew why. Of course a man like Vittorio wanted children, would marry for an heir. Heirs. He was a count; he had a title, a castle, a business, all to pass on to his child. A hoped-for son, no doubt. Her son. The thought sliced through her, shocking her, not an altogether unpleasant feeling. Vittorio arched his brows. ‘Do you want children, Ana?’
There was something intimate about the question, especially when he spoke in that low, husky tone that made her insides ripple and her toes curl. She’d never expected to have such a fierce, primal reaction to him. It was instinctive and sensual, and it scared her. She turned away.
‘Yes, I suppose.’
‘You only suppose?’
‘I never thought to have children,’ she admitted with a bleak honesty that turned her voice a bit ragged. ‘I never thought to have the opportunity.’
‘Then this marriage suits us both.’
She gave a little instinctive shake of her head. He spoke as if it were agreed, the proverbial done deal. It couldn’t be that easy. She couldn’t be that easy. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’ He’d moved closer to her; she could feel him by her shoulder, the heat and the musk of him.
‘We’re talking about marriage, Vittorio. A lifetime commitment.’
‘So?’
‘Such a decision requires some thought.’
‘I can assure you I have thought of it a good deal.’
‘Well, I haven’t.’ She turned around, suddenly angry. ‘I haven’t thought about it at all .’
He nodded, annoyingly unperturbed. ‘You must have questions.’
She didn’t answer. Of course she had questions, but they weren’t ones she necessarily wanted to ask. Why do you want to marry me? What if we hate each other? Do you even desire me at all?
Why am I so tempted?
She looked up, taking a breath. ‘I don’t even know what you think of marriage…of a wife. What would you expect of me? How would we…get on…together?’ It seemed ridiculous even to ask the questions, for surely she wasn’t seriously considering his outrageous proposal. Yet, even so, Ana was curious. She wanted to know the answers.
‘We’d get on together quite well, I imagine,’ Vittorio replied easily. Ana wanted to scream.
You’re not attracted to me , she wanted to shout. I saw how you looked at me in that first moment—you summed me up and dismissed me! And now you want to marry me?
She’d convinced herself she could live without love. But desire? Attraction? Could she give her body to a man who looked at her with disdain or, worse, disgust? Could she live with herself, if she did that, day after day?
‘Ana, what are you thinking?’ Vittorio’s voice was gentle, concerned. She almost wanted to tell him, yet she knew she couldn’t bear the truth of his confession, or the deception of his denial. She let out a long shuddering breath.
‘Surely there are other women who fulfil your criteria,’ she said at last.
Vittorio shook his head. ‘No. There are few women with your knowledge of wine, Ana, or of this region. And of course your vineyard combined with
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