1
BELLA
“You’re up early, Kitty,” I say, holding my phone to my ear as the rickety bus drives through the rolling Italian countryside. It’s a sunshiny afternoon.
“I wanted to make sure you didn’t hate me,” she replies. “So yeah, set my alarm for this godawful hour.”
“Family emergencies trump impromptu getaways. Chill—please. And take care of your mom. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Thanks for being so understanding,” she replies.
“Don’t even think about mentioning it again.”
We say goodbye. Then I lean my forehead against the glass. Let a smile spread over my face.
Am I nervous to be traveling alone? You bet I am.
I’m twenty-three and this is the first time I’ve gone on a solo adventure. But this place is an artist’s dream. The light dancing and shimmering as if tempting me to pick up a paintbrush. I think I’ll survive.
I’ve got no choice anyway. I promised Grandma.
The bus stops. We step down one by one, squinting through the bright light at the magnificent scenery and sucking in the sweet, fresh air. The rolling hills are lined with neat rows of grapevines, workers moving between them. Stone farmhouses and barns dotted around the hills. Cypress trees and olive groves at every turn.
And right next to us, overlooking it all, is a big villa.
A man stands on the balcony. I bite down as a layer of sweat pearls on my skin. Notjustbecause I’m a curvy girl in a tight-fitting dress.
The man wears a shirt open at the front. Sleeves rolled up, thick muscled forearms on display. The golden sun bounces in his silver hair. His eyes seem intense, broody, even with the distance between us.
The tourists—including me—gather below him without him even needing to speak. His presence commands it.
“Thank you all for coming,” he says. His husky tone does confusing and impossible things to me.
A shimmer moves up my spine. I fight the absolutely insane urge to press my legs together in response to the sudden flush of heat there.
His accent isn’t what I expected. Old-money American, New York. Sophisticated but without a hint of Italian.
“My name is Alessandro… Alex. I’ll be giving you the tour personally today.”
His eyes roam over the crowd of twenty. Then linger on me.
I bite my lip. Quickly release it. My overactive artist’s mind paints him in strokes of savage hugeness …
His muscles swelling out of his clothes.
His smirk is laced with lust and hunger, although that’s probably all in my head.
Time seems to stretch. His gaze doesn’t move from me. His eyes flit. Down. To my breasts. I don’t know whether to push them together in the sundress or to run away. A sudden shy urge to hide.
There’s something dangerous about him. Something exciting.
Dangerousandexciting?
Get it together, Bella.
“Let’s begin,” he growls, turning away. And we follow.
“This is my favorite area,”he says. His husky voice fills the cellar.
