The Villa

fingertips.
    The center of it, he thought again. Maybe she'd been there, always.
    She strode down the row, up again, then down, her voice rising, a kind of fascinating foreign music.
    He didn't bother to curse, didn't even bother to question when he felt that last lock snick open inside him.
    He'd been expecting that.
    He was crazy about her, he admitted. Gone. Over the line. And sooner or later, he'd have to figure out what to do about it.
    She jammed the phone back in her pocket, blew at her bangs. "Italian publicity branch," she said to Ty. "A few snags that needed picking loose. Sorry for the interruption. Now where…"
    She trailed off, staring up at him. "What are you grinning at?" she demanded.
    "Am I? Maybe it's because you're not so hard to look at, even in fast-forward."
    "Fast-forward's the only speed that works right now. Anyway, the party. We need to make a statement, and continue with the plans for the centennial. The first gala's midsummer. We do this more intimate gathering to show unity, responsibility and confidence."
    She began ticking points off with her fingers. "The recall was initiated voluntarily, and at considerable expense, before it was a legal issue. La Signora and Mr. MacMillan have traveled to Italy personally to offer any assistance in the investigation. However," she continued, "and we need to get to the however soon, Giambelli is confident the problem is under control. The family, and that's what we have to emphasize, remains gracious, hospitable and involved with the community. We show our polish, while Rene digs in the muck."
    "Polish." He studied the vines. He reminded himself to check the overhead sprinklers, again, should they be needed for frost protection overnight. "If we're going to be polished, how come I have to fool around with a TV crew and walk around in the mud?"
    "To illustrate the dedication and hard work that goes into every bottle of wine produced. Don't be cranky, MacMillan. The last few days have been vicious."
    "I'd be less cranky if outsiders would stay out of the way."
    "Does that include me?"
    He shifted his attention from the vines, looked at her beautiful face. "Doesn't seem to."
    "Then why haven't you come sneaking through my terrace doors in the night?"
    His lips quirked. "Thought about it."
    "Think harder." When she leaned into him, and he stepped back, she asked, "What? Got a headache?"
    "No, an audience. I'd as soon not advertise I'm sleeping with my co-operator."
    "Sleeping with me has nothing to do with business." Her voice chilled several degrees, just the kind of cold snap that wrought damage. "But if you're ashamed of it—" She shrugged, turned and walked away.
    He had to deal with the sting first, then the innate reluctance for public scenes. He caught up with her in five strides, grabbed her arm. "I'm not ashamed of anything. Just because I like keeping my personal life private—" Her sulky jerk back irritated him enough to tighten his grip and curl his fingers around her other arm. "There's enough gossip around here without adding to it. If I can't keep my mind on my work, I can't expect my men to. Ah, the hell with it."
    He lifted her to her toes, pressed his mouth hard to hers.
    There was a thrill in that, she thought. In that quick whip of strength and temper.
    "Okay?" he demanded and dropped her flat on her feet again.
    "Almost." She ran her hands up his chest, felt him tremble. A thrill, she thought, in knowing you were physically outmatched but still had power. She laid her lips on his, teasing until his hand took a fistful of the back of her sweater, until her hands were locked possessively around his neck and her own stomach muscles went loose.
    "That," she murmured, "was just fine."
    "Leave your terrace doors unlocked."
    "They have been."
    "I have to get back to work."
    "Me too."
    But they stayed as they were, mouths a breath apart. Something was happening inside her. A quivering, but not that lustful shiver in the belly. This was around her heart, and more ache than pleasure. Fascinated, she started to give in to it. And the phone in her pocket began to ring again.
    "Well," she said a little unsteadily as she eased away. "Round two. I'll see you later."
    She dragged her phone out as she hurried away. She'd think about Ty later. Think about a lot of things later. "Sophia Giambelli. Nonna, I'm glad you caught me. I tried to reach you earlier, but…"
    She trailed off, alerted by her grandmother's tone. She stopped walking, stood at the