Her Italian Soldier

As she looked at him, a mysterious gleam entered his eyes. “After Papa dropped me off, I had a visitor who looked shocked when I answered my own door. Care to make a guess?”

“Fortunato?” She’d almost said Cellina, but caught herself in time. Naturally the whole Cavezzali family had to be curious why Guilio had let Annabelle stay in his son’s house.

He nodded. “I hate to have to tell you this, but the latest gossip has put you and the widower Basilio as an item.”

She burst into laughter. “If your nephew had looked closely, he could have seen that your shirt and cargo pants would hardly have fit Basilio.”

“He was too focused on you to notice details like that. I’m afraid he’s smitten. That’s when I informed him I was the other man in the house the other night. I could care less what conclusions he’s drawn. According to him you couldn’t be more than twenty-five.”

“I don’t believe it.” She laughed.

“That’s nice when you do that. For your information he’s wishing he could make the stretch that would put the two of you in

to the category that you might treat him as a romantic equal.”

“I’m afraid we’ve all been there before.”

He leaned forward. “Who was Ms. Marsh’s fantasy?”

“My art teacher in high school. He was probably forty, but I thought that was the perfect age for a man. He was so mature and self-assured. He made all the boys look pathetic in comparison. I used to think up reasons to hang around his class after school.”

“You mean he let you?”

“Yes. Now that I think about it, it was pretty naughty of him.”

Lucca’s shoulders shook with laughter.

“Now it’s your turn.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

LUCCA gave her an unconsciously seductive smile. “Which fantasy would you like to hear about first? One of my father’s secretaries, or the mother of one of my high-school friends?”

“Oh, brother.” Annabelle shook her head.

“No fantasy ever looked better than the one sitting across from me.” There was a tone in Lucca’s voice and a look in his eyes that raised her temperature.

She took another drink of her coffee. “After Fortunato left, what did you do?”

He sat back in the chair. “Looked at the list of notations I’ve made of all the things that need fixing around the house.”

“That’s good you’re staying busy.”

His jaw hardened slightly. “You mean so I won’t brood?” He’d jumped on her remark so fast, her head spun.

“No, Lucca. No …” she placated softly. “I didn’t say that. You know I only meant until your pain was a little better.”

“But you were thinking it. With good reason I might add. There are a lot of things I’d like to tackle, but for my leg.”

“It’s getting better every day.” She knew that after a certain amount of work he got tired. That’s when it started to hurt and made him edgy. “I’ve a hunch patience was never thy name, but you’ll make it through this.”

“I’d ask you to dance, but that’s verboten for a time. So is driving.”

“Lucca…haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said? It’s early days yet.” Annabelle put the empty coffee cup back in the saucer.

A faraway look entered Lucca’s eyes. “I’ve been dreaming too much about my plans for the farm. I want it too much.”

“That’s your pain talking. Remember you have a plate in your leg. That’s making all the difference in your recovery.”