The Villa

her body like the water that streamed from it. Her hair was slicked back, and he could see the glint of something, probably diamonds, fire at her ears. Who but Sophia would swim wearing diamonds?
    Watching her, he felt an uncomfortable combination of lust and longing.
    She was perfect—elegant, lusty and clever. He wondered, as his belly tightened at the sight of her, if there was anything more unsettling to a man than perfection in a woman.
    One thing, he decided, as he started toward her. Loving that woman to the point of stupidity.
    "Water must be cold."
    She went still, the towel she'd picked up concealing her face for another instant. "It was. I wanted it cold." Casually, she laid the towel aside and took her time slipping into a terry-cloth robe.
    She knew he looked at her, studied her in that thorough and patient way of his. She wanted him to. Every time she'd passed a window that day, she looked toward the fields, picked him out among the men.
    She'd studied him.
    "You're filthy."
    "Yeah."
    "And pleased to be so," she decided. Filthy, she thought, sweaty. And gorgeous in a primitive way that shouldn't be so damned appealing. "What did you do to your hand?"
    "Scraped several layers of skin off, that's all." He turned it over, glancing at it. "I could use a drink."
    "Honey, you could use a shower."
    "Both. Why don't I clean up? I'll meet you in the center courtyard in an hour."
    "Why?"
    "We'll open a bottle of wine and tell each other all about our day. Couple things I want to run by you."
    "All right, that suits me. I have a few things of my own. Some of us can dig without ending up covered with dirt."
    "Wear something pretty," he called after her and grinned when she glanced back over her shoulder. "Just because I'm not touching doesn't mean I don't like to look."
    He picked up the damp towel when she went into the house, breathed in the scent of her. Beauty, he thought, was rough on a man. No, he didn't want to tame her any more than he wanted to tame the land. But by God, it was time for acceptance, on both sides.
     
    She was going to give him plenty to look at. Plenty to wish for. She was, after all, an expert at packaging. She wore blue, the color of a lightning strike. The bodice dipped low, to frame the rising swell of her breasts; the skirt rose high to showcase the long, slim length of her thighs. She added a thin chain of diamonds with a single sapphire drop that lay cozily at her cleavage.
    She slipped into ice-pick heels, dabbed scent in all the right places and considered herself ready.
    And looked at herself in the mirror.
    Why was she so unhappy? The turmoil around her was upsetting, it was challenging, but it wasn't the cause of this gut-deep unhappiness. She was all right when she was working, when she was focused on what had to be done and how best to do it. But the minute she stopped, the minute her mind drifted from the immediate task at hand, there it was. This dragging sadness, the flattening of spirit.
    And with it, she admitted, an anger she couldn't identify. She didn't even know whom she was angry with anymore. Don, her father, herself. Ty.
    What did it matter? She would do what needed to be done and worry about the rest later.
    For now she'd have some wine and conversation, fill Tyler in on what she'd learned that day. And have the side benefit of putting him in a sexual spin. All in all, a fine way to spend the evening.
    "God. I hate myself," she said aloud. "And I don't know why."
    She kept him waiting, but he'd expected that. The fact was it gave him time to put everything in place. The tiled courtyard was shadowy with evening. Candlelight speared up from the table, from torcheres lanced in the circling garden, from luminaries tucked among the flowerpots.
    He'd chosen the wine, a soft, young white, and had begged some canapés from the kitchen staff. The staff, he'd noted, who were devoted to Sophia and appreciated the flavor of romance.
    A good thing, he decided, as they'd been the ones to scurry around setting up the candles, adding little bottles of spring flowers he'd never have thought of, even putting music on low through the outdoor speakers.
    He could only hope he lived up to their expectations.
    He heard the sound of her heels on the tiles but didn't get up. Sophia, he thought, was too used to men springing to attention in her presence. Or falling at her feet.
    "What's all this?"
    "The staff got into it." He gestured to the chair beside him. "Ask for a little wine and