“I want that for you, too.”
After he’d held her back for another kiss, she hurried through the house to change clothes and run a brush through her hair. She put on the same sleeveless orange shirtwaist she’d worn the other day. On a warm night like this, the linen breathed.
When next she saw Lucca, he’d just come out of his room, walking toward her with barely a sign of a limp. He wore a pair of beige trousers and a silky white sport shirt, where she glimpsed the dusting of hair on his chest at the opening.
His sudden white smile sent her heartbeat skyrocketing. He was so Italian and attractive, she had to look down for a minute to get a grip. They left the house together and went out to the car. In the next instant he’d climbed in the passenger seat next to her.
“Hi.” He leaned over and kissed her neck. The contact of his mouth against her skin radiated through her in waves. “Remember me?” The exact words she’d said to him last week.
“Yes.” Her voice sounded all breathy. That was the way he affected her. She thought he was going to kiss her again, but to her surprise he squeezed her hand instead. “I don’t dare do what I want to you right now or we’ll never leave the farm.”
“Maybe you should get in the back,” she teased.
He drew in a harsh breath. “I prefer to be right where I am, up close and personal.” So did she. Annabelle wished she could be more like Lucca and go with her feelings without dissecting it and imagining it taking on major significance. “What kind of food are you in the mood for?”
“Anything you choose. Surprise me.” She put the key in the ignition and started the car, afraid to look at him directly. If she did, she’d beg to stay here and crawl into his arms.
“You’re in a different mood this evening.”
His radar never failed. “I think I got a little too warm during my walk.”
“Then we need to hydrate you. I know a place not far from here.” He gave her directions. After that, the pregnant silence on the drive to the restaurant passed in a blur because she was too conscious of his nearness and her susceptibility to him.
Every eating establishment on the coast was a scene of enchantment facing the sea. Lucca led them to a divinely romantic spot overlooking the water. He plied her with juice from the bar. Afterward they were shown to an individual terrace with a table for two, separated from the others by flowering trees for the diners’ privacy. The blossoms gave off their own perfume. In the background a live band was playing Italian love songs for those who wanted to dance or simply listen.
After they’d been eating mouthwatering hors d’oeuvres automatically brought to every table, she found herself gazing into those gray-green eyes staring back at her between black lashes as silky as his shirt.
“I know the reason why you went away and joined the air force, Lucca. But if I’d been born in this particular spot on earth, I don’t think I could have left it.”
He finished the last of the olives the waiter had told them were freshly harvested from a nearby grove. “You have places in Southern California that rival our coast.”
She shook her head. “No. Like these hors d’oeuvres I’ve been enjoying, places like Laguna Beach and La Jolla are merely appetizers compared to Ravello.”
His eyes smiled at her. “That’s a fascinating analogy.”
“But true,” she insisted. “On my walk, I stopped by the Villa Rufolo today. The place is an arabesque fantasy within a fantasy. With those enchanting gardens, it’s no wonder Wagner was inspired for his Parsifal.” She sipped her coffee. “I understand the Wagner festival will be on next month. You lucky people who live here.”
“I prefer listening to Wagner when the town isn’t overrun with tourists.”
“I hear you.” She smiled. “Southern California is like a wall-to-wall carpet woven of tourists. That’s why I’ve loved staying in your home so much.”
“You prefer it over the large villas?”
“They’re lovely, but too big. There’s a cozy warm feeling to your little farmhouse. The fruit trees and flowers surrounding it are like tufts of clouds, hiding it away from everyone. I’m crazy about it. If I were an artist, I’d paint it at various hours of the day.”
“You mean like Monet, who kept turning out his poplar trees?”
She winked at him. “Exactly like that.”
The waiter arrived with their fish entrée.
“I believe you’re an artist in your soul,” Lucca observed after they were alone again.
“I’m afraid I fixate on a subject rather than create from it.” She’d fixated on Lucca from those very first moments and there was no antidote except to remove herself. “How did your day go today? Honestly.”
“Honestly, my father and I are at peace. He told me he’s behind my farming idea a hundred percent. And it seems he’s decided to turn his business party into a homecoming party for me. But it’s going to be on Wednesday instead of Saturday. I’m very touched.”
“He’s incredibly proud of you.” Annabelle didn’t know how she was going to wait that long for the big night to unfold.