Love in the Vineyard (Tavonesi #7)(45)
He slid off the stool and crossed to the stove, yanked a pan from the burner and dumped it in the sink. The alarm screamed its ongoing message above their heads.
“At least I know it works,” he said as he waved a towel at the device. The alarm went silent, and he turned to her. “I seem to have a bad habit of making you uncomfortable.”
She sniffled. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
“Well, right now, it’s us. And we are going to have to pull something out of my freezer if we want any supper tonight.” He tossed off the denim apron and threw open the door to his freezer. “I could use some suggestions.”
Her legs were rubbery under her as she stepped over to the freezer. He seemed to know that she didn’t want to—couldn’t—talk any more about her feelings right then. About her outburst. The unspoken understanding between them scared her almost as much as the emotions that had escaped her guard. The feelings they’d shared with each other were spinning the bridge she’d feared. And damned if she hadn’t been right—she might have kept a lid on her desires for many years, but she’d never been faced with a man like him before. Worse, being in his kitchen, doing tasks that any couple might do, had her seeing him in a new light, seeing the man behind the mask that the world thrust on him as a result of his birth. Wasn’t that the same thing she wanted for herself? To be seen for who she was, who she’d fought to become rather than for the aspects of her life she’d fought to overcome and leave behind?
He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to his side.
Her heart did a double thump, and not even the chilled air escaping the freezer cooled the want firing in her.
“Anything appeal?”
The labels weren’t written in English.
“I don’t read Italian,” she said, glad that she didn’t have to admit she couldn’t read English very well either.
“Our former nanny, now housekeeper down at the Casa, is sure that I’ll starve on my own.” He tilted his head down to hers. “Don’t tell her about this fiasco or she’ll be sure it’s true.”
Natasha laughed.
He rummaged through the freezer shelf. “There’s a lasagna, an eggplant Parmesan, and four containers of something Leonora makes especially for me and calls health rice.” He touched his head to hers and quirked a smile. “It sounds better in Italian and is more delicious than it sounds.”
Crying had made her ravenous. She’d missed lunch, and Cara’s snack of lemonade and cookies had burned up in the fury of her tears. But now, with Adrian next to her, a different sort of hunger ached, and its lancing, impossible-to-ignore message had her losing interest in food. “Let’s try the rice,” she said, knowing that no meal would satisfy the silent wish rising in her and twining with the desire shuddering in her belly.
He released her and she let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Her heart skittered with longing, with a yearning that refused to be tamped down as she watched him microwave the containers and then scoop the rice and vegetables onto plates.
At his suggestion they skipped the dining room and took their plates into his living room. Sitting at his formal table and trying to make small talk through a meal would’ve been the worst sort of torture. Maybe he’d felt it too. She almost wanted to ask him.
They settled onto the couch in front of the wall of glass, looking out over the valley. He seemed to sense that she didn’t want to talk about what had made her bawl in his arms. Thank God for favors. Or sisters. Or for whatever made him sensitive to her distress. She’d said less than she’d planned to about what she wanted to tell him and way more than she’d planned about what she didn’t. And through it all she’d never been more aware of wanting him.
She’d better eat, give her speech and scram.
But then he cast a smile that reached into her soul. Whispers rose and her lips trembled as she smiled back. Taste, feel. Even if it can’t last. She fought back the powerful messages threatening to dissolve her willpower, threatening to brush aside her fear of consequences and erode her good sense.
Chapter Fourteen
NATASHA’S GENTLE SMILE AS SHE SAT cross-legged on the floor of his living room nearly undid Adrian. Her skin glowed, almost translucent in the evening light pouring through the wall of windows. Her beauty stunned him. But more amazing was the hungry eagerness, the pull toward joy he felt whenever he was with her. And she was the stimulus that sent the top spinning in directions he’d never explored. In the moments when her gaze was unguarded, he felt invited into a realm he hadn’t known he yearned to enter. She set off anticipation for something he hadn’t even been aware of wanting. He’d never before been cut loose from his bearings, so unbalanced and then forced into uncharted territory. There was no way that he was going to let the circumstances of his birth get in the way of exploring the feelings he had for her. His circumstances already caused him grief and disquiet—he wasn’t about to let them dictate his relationship with Natasha.
Still, the little he’d heard of her life fueled the anger that burned in him whenever he thought about injustice, about the capriciousness of life and fortune.
He knew he couldn’t just spread money around, although sometimes it could help, but he didn’t have enough to make a difference to the big picture. What he could do was provide opportunities. “Don’t give people fish,” his grandmother had told him. “Teach people to fish. And then teach them to take care of the river while they’re at it.” His nana would have known what to do to help Natasha. She might even have known the secret to unlocking her skittish heart.