He was relaxing back with an air of well-being about him, and she knew perfectly well what the cause of that was. Because she shared it with him—as they had shared their passion, their fulfilment, and now would share the day that was to come.
And what would come after? Her mind sheered away from that question. There was no point thinking about what might happen ‘after’—they would take it a day at a time, a night at a time. That was all she wanted right now. And it was more than enough.
She felt delight flood through her—a sense of carefree happiness that came from what she was doing, indulging in this adventure with a man whose lazy glance could make her heart beat faster even before he reached for her.
She felt again that lift that came whenever she looked at him, thought about him, felt a smile play on her lips, her gaze soften. Her pulse quickened. She didn’t know, could not tell just why it was like this with him, knew only that it was what she wanted.
Nic had swept her away, and here she was, at his side, on the road trip of a lifetime—an adventure she would embrace with all her will. She hadn’t sought it, but it was here and now—with Nic.
That lift came again, the rush of happiness.
‘North Rim or South?’ Nic was saying now. ‘South means we could take in Vegas if you wanted?’
Fran shook her head vigorously in rejection. Nic was glad. He’d prefer to avoid Vegas himself. Though he had no property there, there was always a chance he might be recognised if they stayed at one of the major hotels.
A thought struck him—one that intruded into his good mood.
‘Is it somewhere your ex-fiancé would have taken you?’ he heard himself ask.
Hell, why had he said that? It made him sound possessive—and he was never possessive about women. Nor did he let them get possessive about him, either.
There was no point. No point in a woman wanting commitment from him.
No point in a woman wanting commitment from any man.
Hadn’t his poor mother hammered that home to him, her own sorry life story grim proof of that? Men let women down...they didn’t stick around. They cut and ran when it suited t
hem, when the woman tried to get possessive, wanted commitment from them.
With a jolt out of his dark reverie he realised that Fran had given a choked laugh in response. ‘Cesare?’ she said, again giving his name the Italian pronunciation. ‘Las Vegas would have been the last place he’d have visited!’
Cesare would loathe Las Vegas—far too vulgar and touristy for his aristocratic tastes.
‘Is he an astrophysicist too?’ Nic heard himself ask. He wondered why he was going on about the man.
‘Oh, heavens no! Cesare is...’ Fran paused, trying to find a way to describe him to Nic. ‘Well, I guess you could say he works on the land.’
That was true enough. Cesare ran his vast estates with businesslike efficiency, as well as a proprietorial stewardship that took responsibility for his ancient heritage.
Nic gave a satisfied laugh. ‘A hick? A—what’s that particular English term? Oh, yes—a country bumpkin!’ It was good to think of the unknown Cesare as some kind of plodding farm boy.
‘Mmm...’ murmured Fran equivocally.
She really needed to change the subject. La Donna Francesca, once engaged to Cesare, Il Conte di Mantegna, had no place here in this egalitarian country. Here, she was only Doc Fran Ristori.
And Nic was Nic Rossi, who ran the security team at the Falcone Nevada.
And that’s what I want—here and now. Nothing else. Just him and me—for while it lasts.
‘OK, we’ll skip Vegas,’ Nic said now, his laid-back, laconic style already so endearingly familiar to her.
He drank some coffee and made a face. Fran smiled sympathetically. ‘Your Italian genes are showing again,’ she said, amused. ‘I’ve lived Stateside a few years now, and still the coffee is grim!’
He laughed, lines indenting around his mouth. This was tricky territory—she was taking him for Italian-American, and he wanted to keep it that way. Wanted to stay as simple Nic Rossi, who had worked his way up from a deadbeat childhood to a respectable career in hotel security.
He stretched out his legs and returned to the subject of the Grand Canyon. ‘How about West Rim?’ he suggested. ‘The Hualapai Reservation does helicopter flights, a skywalk and a river ride. Plus we can stay in one of the cabins there tonight if we want.’
Fran’s face lit. ‘Sounds wonderful!’ Then she paused. ‘But pricey... I’ll go halves with you.’