“Hello.”
Why did the man have to look so...calm? So in control? Eleven in the morning and he looked like he’d just walked off an Armani photo shoot in black pants that caressed his muscular thighs and a hunter-green polo fitted perfectly to his shoulders. His dark hair had been swept back from his face, probably to taunt her with those chiseled cheekbones and sinful brown eyes. Even his stubble looked sexy yet contained, shaved in a perfect line that drew attention to the defined cut of his jaw.
Except...her eyes drifted down and landed on his bare feet. Maybe it was the sight of bare skin. Maybe it was the glimpse of something vulnerable in the otherwise stalwart Antonio Cabrera. Whatever it was, it sparked something inside her.
Her head jerked back up to meet his neutral gaze.
“Were we going out early today?”
“No. I came up to shower and wandered out here.” He nodded behind her. “I didn’t realize you had set up office.”
She winced. “Sorry. I should have asked.” She waved a hand toward the palatial suite. “I didn’t feel comfortable taking over your space.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Despite your newfound confidence, you say ‘sorry’ a lot. Did you always apologize this much?”
“When?”
“Before.”
So much in that one word. Before they’d grown up. Before she’d gone and fallen in love, or at least developed a crush that had felt like love in her teenage mind. Before he’d broken her heart with cruel words she’d never expected to hear from the lips of the one person she’d thought understood her better than anyone.
“I did to others. My aunt and uncle especially.”
“But not me.”
“No,” she agreed softly. “Not you.”
With her aunt and uncle, she’d apologized whenever she had frightened them, which had been often. Eight minutes late getting home from school? Apology. Traipsed out of phone range in the vineyards and hadn’t returned a text? Apology. Decided to move out of her childhood bedroom and go to Paris at the age of twenty-seven? Apology.
Kess had wanted to ride into battle for her, tell her aunt and uncle how much they’d scarred her with their incessant worrying. Anna had always stopped her. Not only did she love her aunt and uncle, but deep down she knew the fears that had driven their helicopter parenting style. She’d felt the same fears whenever they’d gone into Granada for a date night, had waited at the top of the stairs with her phone clutched in her hands, everypingsending fear spiraling through her veins. It hadn’t been until she’d seen the headlights illuminating the driveway that she’d heaved a sigh of relief and crept off to bed.
Perhaps it had been the lifeline of distraction Antonio had first offered. How he’d been one of the few not to incessantly ask how she was doing. How he hadn’t been afraid to tease her, to push her to do things on her own, to treat her like she was just another kid instead of anorphan.
So many reasons why they’d become friends. So many reasons why she’d fallen for him.
But that boy had disappeared. Whatever had happened that last week in Granada before he’d gone back to university had hardened him. Every time she slipped on that bracelet, the cool metal on her wrist served as a reminder that their relationship was an act.
Yet the last few days had been different. He’d seemed relaxed, happier. It had been all too easy to enjoy spending time with him instead of keeping her guard up.
“Is this just for fun?” He gestured to the drawings behind her and the swaths of fabric she’d picked up at a boutique.
“No.” Shyness crept in. She tapped out a nervous rhythm with the pencil against the paper in her hand. “I actually got a call. Well, a couple.”
There it was again, that damned genuine smile that blazed across his face and turned his eyes from opaque brown to sinful chocolate.
“That’s great.”
Add the warmth in his tone to those devastating eyes and she could feel her bones turning to mush as she ducked her face to hide the blush his praise brought on.
“Thanks.”
His bare feet whispered across the stone as he walked over to her and crouched down. He reached out again, like he had in Rome, and tilted her chin up. In Rome, it had been electric, that touch of his skin on hers. Here, with questions swirling in her mind and emotions battling in her chest, she wanted nothing more than to lean into his touch and soak in his strength.
Weak.
She pulled back, ignoring the flash in his eyes. No way was Antonio Cabrera hurt. She was seeing things she wanted to see.
“Why are the calls not good news?” His voice came out terse.