CHAPTER NINE
LANAFORKEDTHElast of the melt-in-the-mouth barbecued lamb fillet—richly marinaded since that morning with garlic, lemon and rosemary—and gave a sigh of repletion as she cleared her plate. It had been another good day of taking their ease in this beautiful remote spot. And another mouth-watering barbecue this evening, shared with Salvatore as she had shared the day with him.
‘I hope you’ve left room for the roasted bananas.’ He smiled at her, his own plate already empty. ‘A shame we have no gelato to go with them, but the chalet doesn’t run to a freezer. We’ll make do with cream from the fridge instead. And douse them in amaretto for sweetness.’
They did, too, and as ever Lana lingered over the sheer luxury of eating guilt-free desserts. Around them night thickened, and the sound of owls haunted the forest around them. They were cocooned in the light from the oil lamp, which was throwing Salvatore’s striking features into yet more striking chiaroscuro.
Lana was all too aware that she should suppress the thought, but it seemed too much effort. Her arms, her pecs and quads were tired from the unaccustomed exertion of rowing across the lake, and all she wanted to do was rest and relax. Not to make any effort. It would be an effort not to let herself do what she always seemed to want to do—let her eyes go to the man opposite her. The way they had right from the first...
Lingering over the glass of amaretto Salvatore had poured for her, in addition to dousing the barbecued bananas in it, feeling the rich liqueur’s sweetness in her veins, she gave herself up to the indulgence of letting her gaze go where it wanted. It seemed easier, less effort, to do so.
They were no longer on the wooden chairs at the table below the veranda, next to the barbecue, but had repaired with their liqueurs to the bench on the veranda itself, padded with cushions filched from the settee. They sat there, not touching, keeping a space between them. The lightest of night breezes winnowed across the lake, refracting the starlight. The moon was riding high, silvering the dark waters of the lake. It was peaceful—balmy, even—and, replete and content, she went on gazing placidly out over the unchanging scene, catching the scent of the pine trees, the deep, earthy green smell of the forest all around, savouring the sweet, strong, almond liqueur warming her throat as it slid down in tiny sips.
Salvatore’s long legs were stretched out in front of him and his head was turned towards her. He’d finished his amaretto, set the glass down on the veranda floor, under the bench. He was looking across at her.
‘Another good day?’ he asked.
She could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Another good day,’ she agreed.
She took another sip of her liqueur. It was sweet and warm in her veins. She let her gaze play on his face, knowing she wanted to, knowing she should not, half veiling her eyes and knowing she should make some remark about being tired after a good but long day, go inside, climb the ladder to her private bed.
Knowing that she should not go on sitting there, a mere cushion’s space between them, while the wind blew across the dark lake and the moon dipped down towards the canopy of the trees on the far shore, painting the world with silver.
Knowing the veiling of her eyes did not disguise the fact that she was gazing at him, drinking him in as he sat there, his cuffs turned back, the vee of his throat exposed to the night air, the planes of his face perfected by the low light that touched the sable of his hair with gold.
Knowing he knew that she was gazing at him... That she could not help but do so.
For how could she help it? The question shaped in her head hopelessly, helplessly. She had always wanted to gaze at him. From the very first.
But I fought it—I fought it because...because...
Why had she fought it? There were reasons, she knew. Reasons she had run from him that night after Florence. Reasons she had told herself that his kiss at the Duchessa’shad been for show only. Reasons she had insisted their strange marriage be entirely celibate.
Reasons. Complications...
I married for money—so I can’t confuse why I married with all that I feel and want and yearn for...
Could she?
Here, away from the watching world, it was just him and her. Here, they were not some fictitious man and wife. Here, they were only man and woman. And very, very real...
Thoughts, feelings, longings rippled within her like currents of water...flowing in complicated eddies...finding no outlet. Another owl hooted, a breath of moving air rippled the lake water, a fish splashed far out in the centre of the lake then was gone.
‘So, what are we to do, hmm?’
Salvatore’s low voice broke the silence lapping all around them. His eyes were meeting hers, holding hers. She felt the breath still in her throat, her eyes searching his as if looking for the meaning in the words he’d just spoken. Words that echoed the confusion in her own mind.
But she knew their meaning. Knew it even before he reached his hand towards her in the shadowed light, meshing their fingers. She felt the strength of his, their warmth twining with hers. His eyes were still holding hers.
‘Can you truly not see how very simple this is?’ he asked her.
His voice was husky and it did things to her...things that echoed the sweet warmth of the almond liqueur, the warm pulse of her blood. Her gaze searched his almost pleadingly. The pulse of her blood grew stronger, her breath shallower. His strong fingers meshed so easily with hers...
‘But it isn’t,’ she answered him, her voice low. Pained. ‘It isn’t simple at all!’
He shook his head. ‘It is,’ he contradicted her. ‘So very simple.’