The Legacy by Fayrene Preston

surrounded him. But in the final analysis, like the tides and the seasons, some things were inevitable, and she felt she had no choice.
    When she came back to the veranda, she found Nico leaning against the balustrade, his shirt buttoned, his arms crossed over his chest. He appeared very hard, very closed.
    She halted beside him, facing in the opposite direction, and folded her hands on top of the ornamental barrier. “Did I touch a tender spot?”
    “No.”
    “Were you afraid I would?”
    He glanced at her. She was gazing out at the night-shrouded ocean, and the confusion he saw on her face filled him with anger—an anger directed solely at himself. “No.”
    She ran her tongue over her bottom lip. “I was just wondering. . . . When you were kissing me, you seemed so guarded. ”
    No woman had ever sensed that he was holding part of himself back during any phase of his love-making. He wasn’t sure he’d been aware of it himself. Not until now. Caitlin was too perceptive for her own good. “You’re mistaken.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    He ground his teeth together in frustration. Why didn’t she just leave it alone? "Maybe I feel it wouldn’t be a good idea to become involved with you. ”
    “Is that because you’re involved with someone else?” Her heart beat very fast as she waited for his answer, and it seemed a long time coming.
    “No.”
    “Then why, Nico?”
    He shot out his arm, clasped the side of her throat, and pulled her in front of him. Each word he spoke carried a biting emphasis. “It could be I’m afraid to lose control with you, because if I did, I wouldn’t know where it would end.”
    She swallowed hard. “Do you really believe that?” He stared broodingly at her, his thumb stroking up and down the sensitive cord at the side of her neck. “Maybe.”
    “You’re a difficult man to get to know, Nico DiFrenza.”
    “And you, Caitlin Deverell, are too damn easy to want.” Like a junkie needing a fix, he pressed a hard kiss to her lips. It seemed a long time before he released her. But once he did, it seemed too short a time.
    He waited for her to say something and cursed the continued silence. This kind of tension couldn't continue. Something had to give between them, or there would be an explosion. “You didn’t put on another record. ”
    She folded her shaking hands on top of the balustrade. “No. That’s the kind of music 1 love, but I wasn’t sure if you liked It or not. ”
    “When I listen to music, it’s usually classical or opera, but I liked what you were playing.”
    She shifted slightly, so that she could see him better. His answer had been curt, but at least he was talking to her, telling her something about himself. “You don’t seem the type of man who would like opera. ”
    The slight upward curve of his mouth surprised her. “Your grandfather raised you with Gershwin and Porter. My great-grandmother raised me with Puccini and Verdi. She’s from Italy, and to her, music is opera.” His smile slowly faded. “My mother died when I was twelve, but even before then, Elena was a strong force in my life. Now she’s ill. Her nurses call me whenever she’s having a particularly bad day. It makes her furious when I show up, because she doesn’t want me to worry about her. She fusses at me, calling me by my full name, Niccolo, and telling me all the reasons why I shouldn’t have come.”
    An expression of incredible tenderness came over his face, causing Caitlin's breath to catch in her throat.
    “I put on Madame Butterfly or La Boheme, then I sit with her and hold her hand. It never takes long for her to settle down, and soon she begins to talk to me In her native tongue of the times in Italy during the First World War. It was the hardest time in her life, but also the happiest. When she was seventeen, she met and married a young man who was working in the Italian Underground. A year later, he was killed, and she was left widowed and pregnant.” He paused.