Clearly she was going mad. When she had been ten years old, her twin brother Alex had used to tease her when she played in the woods on their estate, digging in the stream, pretending each frog was a prince, every field was a distant country and that she could fly around the world in an invisible plane. Alex had laughed himself silly, telling her she was crazy, and he feared his sister would someday go all the way around the bend. Perhaps he’d been right, and all her years of loneliness had finally caught up with her.
Annabelle jumped in her chair as Stefano sat right beside her. She’d thought he would sit across from her, not next to her. He was too close. Way too close. And he smelled so good, like saddle soap and sunlight. Woodsy and clean and masculine. She took a d
eep breath. He smelled like everything good. Everything dangerous.
Trembling, she tilted as far away from him as she could without falling out of her chair. Subtle, very subtle, she thought sourly, but it was the best she could do when her body was screaming for her to run.
Trying to hide her pounding heart, she grabbed a linen napkin from the table and spread it across her lap. As casually as she could manage, she said, “So, what’s for dinner?”
As if he hadn’t noticed her leaning diagonally away from him, Stefano opened a bottle of wine. “Mrs. Gutierrez has prepared some of my favorite dishes to welcome you to the hacienda. I hope you will enjoy them.”
Pouring red wine into two antique crystal goblets, he held one of them out to her. The wine shimmered crimson in the flickering candlelight. Careful not to brush his fingers with her own, she took the glass.
Looking down at her, he held out his own goblet in toast. “To every delicious pleasure.”
She clinked glasses and then drank deeply, tilting her head back and closing her eyes, waiting for the wine to hit her empty stomach. Her nerves badly needed bracing.
Stefano lifted a large silver lid off a tray and served them both. Annabelle looked down at her filled plate. Her stomach growled at the sight and mouthwatering smell of the country-style Spanish dishes: steaming hot empanadas, red rice and marinated chicken, spicy Basque chorizo, cheese and green olives. She realized that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast—coffee and a granola bar she’d devoured at a gas station on the road from Portugal—and she was starving. She put down her glass and picked up her fork.
“It’s delicious,” she blurted out after the first bite of chicken.
“Gracias,” Stefano said as he refilled her nearly empty wineglass with red Rioja wine.
He took a sip of his own wine and Annabelle realized he’d barely had any yet, while she was apparently on her second glass. She would need to slow down. No more Dutch courage, she ordered herself, and she dug into her empanada with gusto. He smiled, watching her with satisfaction.
She hesitated, suddenly self-conscious, but the baked Spanish pastry filled with fish and tomato was so flavorful and delicious she couldn’t stop herself from taking another big bite.
“I’m probably making a pig of myself,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. “But it’s so good.”
His lips curved with approval. “On the contrary. I like a woman with appetite.”
Nervously, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and washed down the last bit of empanada with a bit more wine. “You’re not eating?”
“I am,” he said, taking a bite of chorizo. “I just keep getting distracted.”
“By me?”
His dark eyes gleamed. “Sí.”
Her cheeks went hot as she put down her fork. He’s not flirting, she told herself fiercely. He’s probably just never seen a woman eat properly before. He’s used to dating actresses and stick-figure models. Annabelle gulped another long drink of wine, then picked up her fork again. She tried everything on her plate. When she looked up, she saw Stefano refilling her wine again. She hadn’t even realized her glass was getting low.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she demanded with a laugh, only half joking.
“Would it be difficult?”
No. She felt half-drunk already just being near him. But she lifted her chin.
“I can handle my liquor,” she said, although the truth was she handled liquor mainly by staying away from it. She was famous for always sipping mineral water. She’d been teased for it, but having a drunkard for a father and drug addict for a mother tended to make a person more cautious.
And by the increasing dizziness in Annabelle’s brain she was drinking too much wine, too fast. Candlelight flickered against the high stucco walls of the dining hall as she looked at him. She suddenly realized her body had shifted in the chair. Instead of leaning away, she was now leaning forward, almost touching him. He could move a few inches and touch her.
Her attempt to calm her nerves with wine wasn’t working.
“You’re different than people say,” Stefano said in a low voice. His dark eyes caressed her face.
Annabelle stiffened, hating the thought of being the subject of gossip. She knew people called her an ice queen. People could be so vicious, even cruel, not caring whom they hurt in their own amusement. “I have no interest in hearing what people say about me.”
He shook his head, smiling.