Because no one deserved to suffer what she had. To have their life so drastically altered by one foolish, split-second decision. To have to face up to the bitter realisation that their future was going to be vastly different from the one they’d envisaged. She’d always wanted a career in art, and she’d achieved that, but as a girl she had dreamed of other things, too—love, marriage, children—things she’d eventually had to accept were no longer in her future.
Nico’s blue eyes were unfathomable, as always, and suddenly she regretted opening up to him. This man knew so much about her already, and she knew next to nothing about him—especially his past. She’d known he’d served in the French Foreign Legion—that alone was fascinating—but knowing he was a widower... It touched something inside her. Made her want to see beneath that tough, formidable exterior. And yet she couldn’t imagine she ever would. Nico guarded his privacy like a fortress—and he’d made it clear two-way sharing wasn’t on the agenda.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘the accident was a long time ago. I try not to dwell on the past.’ She brightened her voice. ‘Lunch was lovely. Thank you. Can we go and see the old ruins now?’
His thick brows drew together. ‘You really want to see a crumbling pile of ancient stones?’
‘I thought we were doing what I want to do today?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You are a stubborn woman, Marietta Vincenti.’
She raised her chin. ‘So I’ve been told.’
* * *
Nico stepped onto the terrace with a bottle and two glasses in his hands and a strong sense of déjà vu.
Tonight, however, the bottle was an expensive Burgundy rather than cognac, and the mood in the air—if not entirely tension-free—was an improvement on yesterday.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent almost an entire day with one woman. Marietta was beautiful and he couldn’t deny she made his blood heat, but she also fascinated him on a level most women didn’t. She was strong. A woman who’d fought her way back from a major life-altering trauma—a survivor.
She was different from the women whose company he normally sought and that was the attraction, he assured himself. Nothing more.
And he couldn’t deny that today had been...pleasurable.
She had charmed the entire Bouchard clan, including old Henri, and though the incident with the young couple had seemed to shake her she’d bounced back—enough to demand he take her to see the old fortress.
Her fascination with the ruins had bemused Nico. The ancient stronghold that had once defended the island against marauding pirates was, to his eye, no more than a dull, crumbling edifice, and yet Marietta had taken the time to snap photos from every vantage point her wheelchair had allowed her to reach.
Then she had asked him to piggyback her up the spiral staircase of the stone tower to see the view.
It had been torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.
Those soft, lush breasts pressed into his back. Her slender arms looped around his neck. Her warm breath misting over his nape.
He had thought that lifting her into and out of his Jeep throughout the day had tested his control. Carrying her on his back, all that feminine warmth and vanilla and strawberry scent enveloping him, had been a hundred times more challenging.
She was wheeling out of the house now, a platter of cheeses, olives and cured meats expertly balanced on her lap. A bread basket filled with the fresh mini-baguettes Josephine had given them this afternoon already sat on the table.
A minute later she was piling thick slices of cheese into a baguette. ‘I shouldn’t be hungry after our enormous lunch,’ she said. ‘It must be all the sea air.’
Nico watched her bite into the baguette. He liked it that she wasn’t overly dainty in the way she ate. She tackled her food with enthusiasm. Appreciation. A sign of her Italian heritage, perhaps?
‘The air quality here is pristine,’ he said. ‘I crave it when I’ve been in Paris or New York or any major city for too long.’
She swallowed. ‘Do you have homes in Paris and New York?’
‘Apartments.’
She nodded—as if that didn’t surprise her. Her head tilted to one side. ‘So, what does a man who runs a multi-billion-dollar global security company do with his time off?’
He fingered the stem of his glass. Tried not to notice how her mouth wrapped around the end of her baguette. ‘That depends,’ he said finally.
‘On what?’
‘On what kind of recreation I’m in the mood for.’
He enjoyed the sudden bloom of pink in her cheeks more than he should have.