The Villa

he lit the candles scattered through the room.
    "Tyler, I can recommend a good therapist. There's absolutely no shame in seeking help for mental instability."
    "I'll keep it in mind. God knows I haven't been clear in the head since I got tangled up with you. We can make an appointment together, after you move in."
    "I'm not moving in with you."
    "Yes, you are." He let her slide down until she was back on her feet and facing him. "Because it's what I want."
    "If you think I give a single damn about what you want right now—"
    "Because," he continued, skimming his fingers over her cheek, "I'm as crazy about you as you are about me. That shut you up, didn't it? It's time, Sophia, we started dealing with it instead of dancing around it."
    "I'm sorry." Her voice shook. "I don't want this."
    "I'm sorry you don't want it, too. Because it's the way it is. Look at me." He framed her face with his hands. "I wasn't looking for this, either. But it's been there, for a long time. Let's see where it takes us."
    He lowered his mouth to hers. "Just us."
    Just him, she thought. She wanted to believe it, wanted to trust all these soft and liquid feelings that were flowing into her. To love someone and have it be strong and true. To be capable of that. Worthy of it.
    She wanted to believe it.
    To be loved by an honest man, one who would make promises and keep them. Who would care for her, even when she didn't deserve it.
    That was a miracle.
    She wanted to believe in miracles.
    His mouth was warm and firm on hers, patiently stirring desire. The steady, irresistible rise of passion was a relief. This she could understand, this she could trust. And this, she thought as she wrapped her arms around him, she could give.
    She went with him willingly when he lowered her to the bed.
    He kept the heat banked. This time there would be no mistaking what happened between them was an act of love. Generous, selfless and sweet. He linked his fingers with hers as he deepened the kiss, as he tasted the beginning of surrender on her lips.
    It was meant to be there, in the old bed in the castello where it had all begun a century before. There, another beginning, another promise. Another dream. As he looked down at her, he knew it.
    "Blooming time," he said quietly. "Ours."
    "Always the farmer," she said with a smile as she unbuttoned his shirt. But her hand trembled, went limp when he took it in his, pressed it to his lips.
    "Ours," he repeated.
    He undressed her slowly, watched the candlelight shimmer over her skin, listened to the way her breath caught, released, caught again when he touched her. Did she know the barriers between them were crumbling? He did; he felt them fall when she quivered. And knew the precise moment her body yielded to her heart.
    They seemed to sink into the bed like lovers in a pool. She gave herself to the sensations of those hard palms sliding over her, that persuasive mouth roaming where it pleased.
    She reached for him, rose to him. And answered. The quiet beauty of knowing he would be there, that he would hold on even as she did, poured through her like wine in the blood.
    When he pressed his lips to her heart, she wanted to weep.
    No one else, he thought as he lost himself in her. No one else had ever unlocked him this way. He felt her rise under him, an arch of welcome. He heard her broken moan merge with his as she crested. And knew when he looked down at her that she was steeped in what they gave each other.
    A blend, rare and perfect, finally shared.
    Once again he linked his hands with hers, holding tight now. "Take me in, Sophie." His body shook, control ruthlessly held, as he slipped inside her. "Take me. I love you."
    Her breath caught again as sensation swarmed into her, tore at her heart. Fear and joy bursting. "Ty. Don't."
    He laid his lips on hers, the kiss gentle. Devastating. "I love you. Take me." He kept his eyes open and on hers, watched tears swim and shimmer. "Tell me."
    "Ty." Her heart quaked, seemed to spill over. Then her fingers curled strong to his. "Ty," she said again. " Ti amo."
    She met his mouth with hers now, clung, and let him sweep her away.
    "Say it again." Drifting, Ty ran a fingertip up and down her spine. "In Italian like that."
    She shook her head, her only sign that she heard the request, and kept her cheek pressed against his heart.
    "I like the way it sounds. I want to hear it again."
    "Ty—"
    "There's no point trying to take it back." He continued his lazy stroke, and his voice