His Lost-and-Found Bride

He tilted his head. ‘But you work for the Italian Heritage Board. Isn’t that exactly the place that should be asked to do these things?’

She shook her head. ‘We’re just one organisation. I would be terrified. The pressure would be overwhelming and the criticism—before I even started—would be even more so.’ She sat back in her chair. ‘When it comes to things like that, I prefer just to admire along with the rest of the general public.’

‘And Burano?’

She shook her head. ‘His work isn’t as well known. Isn’t as criticised. The Madonna and Child hasn’t been seen in generations. It isn’t even on official records. Restoring it to its former beauty will be an act of joy.’

She could see him suck in a breath at her words. He paused, then looked up between heavy lids, ‘And do you think everything can be restored—even people?’

Her skin chilled and her throat closed over. It was almost as if someone had stood behind her and poured icy water over her head.

He’d promised. He’d promised he wouldn’t mention this tonight. She stood up swiftly, her chair toppling over behind her.

Logan was on his feet in an instant. It was almost as if he’d realised what had slipped out of his mouth. He walked swiftly over to the waiter, thrusting a bundle of notes at him.

Lucia didn’t wait, she turned on her impossibly high heels and took off down the stairs.

But Piazza San Marco wasn’t ready to give up on her yet.

As they’d had dinner, a small string quintet had been setting up downstairs outside one of the neighbouring restaurants. With the whole square bathed in flickering lights, the silhouette of the Basilica and Clock Tower at one end and the outlined string players in the middle her feet came to an abrupt halt.

Even she knew that running through the middle of a quintet in the piazza wasn’t her best idea.

As she sucked in some air to try and still her thudding heart, she felt a presence behind her. Logan’s hand slid across the thin red fabric of the dress covering her belly. She felt his warm breath on her shoulder and he moved in gently, letting her feel the rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder blades.

She was upset. But she wasn’t angry at his touch. Instead, it felt like a comfort blanket.

Two of the violinists lifted their instruments and the quintet started to play. It wasn’t what she expected. Classical music—usually opera—was often heard in the piazza. But this was different. It was a modern song by a UK male singer, transformed and made beautiful by the strings. She could almost hear his words echoing about love and loss in her ears.

It was almost as if they knew exactly what to play.

She spun around, placing her hands flat on Logan’s chest. He didn’t say a word, just lifted one hand and let his finger trail down her cheek until it reached her shoulder, where he flicked her curls back.

He was watching her with those steady green eyes and she could see the hurt shimmering from him. He was trying so hard, but was finding this every bit as difficult as she was.

His other hand slid around her hips, halting at her lower spine.

They were locked together. Just the way they should be.

Her palms slid up the planes of his chest and rested on his shoulders. This was her Logan. No one else’s. No one else could ever come close to the connection she felt with him.

His body started to sway, tiny movements from side to side. One hand stayed at the base of her spine and the other tangled through her hair.

Dancing. She hadn’t danced since...

Since before she’d had Ariella Rose.

She and Logan had once danced all the time. Sometimes in the clubs of Florence, often at family events and sometimes in the privacy of their own home.

Most of all she’d just loved the feeling of being in his arms and the warm touch of his body next to hers.

As the melody moved past the introduction he reached up and captured her hand in his, leading her away from the stairs and onto the patterned floor of Piazza San Marco. Little lights glowed under their feet.

People were still walking past, stopping to listen to the music, with one other couple dancing nearby.

He turned her to face her, putting his hands on her hips. ‘Ready to recapture the past, Lucia?’ he whispered.

She reached up and put her hand on his chest again. She could feel his warm skin and beating heart underneath the fine Italian shirt.

All she could focus on was the way he was looking at her. It made her feel like the only girl on the planet.

She slid her hands around his neck and rested her head against his chest. ‘Always,’ she replied.

Their footsteps moved in perfect unison. The warmth of his body next to hers felt overwhelming.

They fitted so well together it almost felt like they’d never been apart. And Logan didn’t just know how to sway to the music. He knew how to dance—how to really dance.

It was as if they could read each other’s minds and knew exactly what the next steps should be. She moved her hand from his chest, sliding it along the length of his arm and letting their hands clasp.

She felt him stiffen against her and she lifted her head.

There was no doubt on his face. He released her from his grasp against him and spun her outwards. When she danced with Logan she always felt like she could fly.

He could lift and spin her as if she were as light as air. Her dress spun out, the ripples of red fabric twisting high from her thighs, the stiletto heels forgotten as she continued to follow his lead.

She could hear the murmurs around them as people stopped to stare. But all she could focus on was the beat of the music and the feel of Logan’s hard muscles as they connected briefly through the parts of the music.

Logan knew how to lead. He knew how to steer her and how to whip her around, like a matador with a cape.

And she kept spinning. The lit arches of the Procuraties flashing past her line of vision. The evening was still warm and her body temperature was rising quickly.

She couldn’t even begin to think straight. The only thing that counted was how right everything felt—how connected everything felt.

She dipped her head and spun under his arm three times as the crowd gasped. The momentum of the music was building. He caught her around the waist and dipped her backwards. It was one of their all-time favourite moves. The sensuality of the deep arch of her back

, followed by her ever-so-slow stretch back up, ending up nose to nose with Logan.

He was breathing just as quickly as she was. A laugh escaped from her lips. Her hair fell over her face, some of her curls connecting with his skin. But he didn’t brush them back, he just dipped his head further forward, allowing them both to be hidden beneath the veil of her hair.

‘How are we doing?’ he murmured. He ran one finger up her spine, sending shock waves everywhere, a thousand beautiful butterflies beating their wings against her skin.

It couldn’t be more perfect than this.

Then he moved. The music was slowing, reaching a building crescendo. He spun her once more, letting her skirt billow around her and her hair stream outwards.

He caught her hips suddenly, stopping her in mid-pivot and pressing his head against hers. She didn’t even have time to catch her breath before his lips were on hers.

There was no time to think about where they were or what they had been doing. There was no time to think about the audience or the scenery.

His hands skirted around her behind, her hips and up the sides of her waist, stopping as they tangled in her hair, and he anchored her head firmly in one hand.

She couldn’t ever remember being kissed like this—even by Logan.

She couldn’t get enough of him. His taste, his smell, the feel of his body beneath the palms of her hand. He was hers. He was all hers. And she didn’t want this to stop.

He pulled his lips back from hers, staying close enough to let her feel his breath on her skin. ‘It’s you, Lucia. It’s always been you.’

The music died around them, but she hardly noticed. Her heartbeat was roaring in her ears. The world around them was still spinning—just like her brain. It hadn’t stopped. Not for a second.

Logan held her tightly to him. She could feel his knotted muscles, the tension as he held her. She had no doubt about the effects she had on his body.