The Villa

long. The kid never stops asking questions."
    "The two of you seemed to be hitting it off. We'd dance better if you actually touched me."
    "Right." He laid a hand at her waist. "She's an interesting kid, and bright. Have you seen my grandfather?"
    "Not for a bit. Why?"
    "I want to see him, and La Signora. Then I figure I'm done with this and can go home."
    "You're such a party animal." She slid her hand over his shoulder and tugged playfully at his hair. There was so much of it, she thought. All thick and unruly. "Live a little, Ty. It's Christmas."
    "Not yet. There's still a lot of work to be done before Christmas, and to be done after."
    "Hey." She tugged his hair again so that he stopped scanning the crowd for his grandfather and looked at her. "There's no work to be done tonight, and I still owe you for coming to my rescue."
    "You weren't in trouble. Everyone else was." It wasn't gratitude he was looking for, but distance. A safe distance. She was always dangerous, but pressed up against a man, she was lethal. "And I have some charts and some grafts I want to go over. Why is that funny?" he demanded when she chuckled.
    "I was just wondering what you'd be like if you ever loosened up. I bet you're a wild man, MacMillan."
    "I get loose," he muttered.
    "Tell me something." She skimmed her fingers down the nape of his neck, enjoyed the way those lake-blue eyes flared with annoyance. "Something that has nothing to do with wine or work."
    "What else is there?"
    "Art, literature, an amusing childhood experience, a secret fantasy or desire."
    "My current fantasy is to get out of here."
    "Do better. Come on. The first thing that pops into your head."
    "Peeling that dress off you, and seeing if you taste like you smell." He waited a beat. "Good, that shut you up."
    "Only momentarily, and only because I'm assessing my reaction. I find myself a great deal more intrigued by the image than expected." She tipped her head back to study his face. Oh yes, she liked his eyes, especially now, when there were sparks of heat in them. "Why do you suppose that is?"
    "I've answered enough questions for one night." He started to step back, but she clamped her hand on his shoulder.
    "Why don't we fulfill our duty here, then go to your place?"
    "Is it that easy for you?"
    "It can be."
    "Not for me, but thanks." His tone turned careless and cold as he looked away from her again and around the room. "But I'd say you've got plenty of alternates here if you're up for a quick one-night stand. I'm going home."
    He stepped back, walked away.
    It took her nearly ten seconds before she had her wind back, and another three before the fury spurted up and scored her throat. The delay allowed him to get out of the room and down the first flight of stairs before she came after him.
    "No, you don't." She hissed it under her breath, then stalked past him. "In here." She strode into the family parlor, banged the pocket doors closed.
    "Cazzo! Culo! You son of a bitch." Even now her voice was quiet, controlled. He couldn't know how much that cost her.
    "You're right." He cut her off before she could spew all the venom. "That was out of line, and I'm sorry."
    The apology, quietly given, turned temper to tears, but she held them back by sheer raw will. "I'm a whore, in your opinion, because I think of sex the way a man does."
    "No. Jesus." He hadn't meant that, only to get under her skin the way she got under his. Then get the hell away from her. "I don't know what I think."
    "It would be all right, wouldn't it, if I pretended reluctance, if I let you seduce me. But because I'm honest, I'm cheap."
    "No." He gripped her arms now, hoping to steady them both. "You got me worked up. You always have. I shouldn't have said what I did. Anything that I did. For God's sake, don't cry."
    "I am not going to cry."
    "Good. Okay. Look, you're beautiful, outrageous and over my head. I've managed to keep my hands off you up till now, and I'm going to keep them off."
    "You've got them on me now."
    "Sorry." He dropped his arms to his sides. "Sorry."
    "You're saying you insulted me because you're a coward?"
    "Look, Sophie. I'm going home, soak my head. We'll get back to work tomorrow and forget this happened."
    "I don't think so. I get you worked up, do I?" She gave him a little shove, moving in, and he stepped back. "And your answer to that is to take a slap at me."
    "It was the wrong answer. I said I was sorry."
    "Not good enough. Try this."
    She was on him before he could act.