The words wobble out with a soft, but uncertain landing. They sound sincere, without a hint of sarcasm—like maybe I want to trust him.
Deep down, I long for someone with his kind of power and knowledge to guide me. I’m in over my head. But it doesn’t matter what he says, or how desperately I need someone like him on my side. I’d never trust him. Not in a million years.
Antonio presses his lips together until they all but disappear.
Should I trust you?My ridiculous question flails in the silence, as I search frantically for a way to snatch it back.
“I’m not here for the grapes or the vineyards.” His tenor is unyielding, but the edge is mostly honed. “I don’t like to have my motivations questioned, or to repeat myself.”
His stormy eyes drill into mine, boring deep, until I’m certain he’s seeing more than he should—more than I want to reveal. I’m so flustered, I look away. It’s not a tactful move, or discreet. There’s no doubt that Antonio is fully aware of how uncomfortable I am. How uncomfortable he makes me.
“I came to check on you,” he continues, in a sober tone that’s abandoned all of its sharpness. “But no. You shouldn’t trust me. I’m everything you believe me to be. Probably worse.”
9
Daniela
Ishiver as a chill blows through the room, rubbing my arms to warm myself.
“You shouldn’t trust me. I’m everything you believe me to be. Probably worse.”
What kind of man says that about himself—without shame or apology?No one.
His expression is virtually unreadable, like a skilled poker player biding his time. Although, I don’t feel as though he’s playing me. Not about this. I think he meant exactly what he said.
I draw a quiet breath. The no-holds-barred admission is startling, but in an odd way, the frank honesty is disarming. Like everything else about him, it rattles my bones, leaving me off-balance.
And because I must be the most foolish woman in the entire valley, it also draws me to him in ways that I don’t want to be drawn to him. I can’t explain it. But it’s true.
Antonio Huntsman is danger wrapped in a handsome package, with masculine ridges and angles along a powerful frame. Underneath, barely concealed by the refined wrapping, is the worst kind of danger. I know it. I know it in my marrow. I know it in every cell of my being. Yet some element of that danger is attractive.
God forgive me.
I raise my eyes in his direction. He’s watching me. Studying me like a novelty. I suppose I am. The girl who can’t make up her mind about the elusive Antonio Huntsman—the country’s most eligible bachelor. Like the devil he is, I’m sure he senses every conflicting emotion warring inside me.
“Have there been many inquiries about the property?” he asks, again.
Inquiries about the property.Yes, that’swhere we were before I started thinking about kissing the bad boy until he weakened my resolve, and I gave himeverything.
He’s not a boy, Daniela. Don’t make that mistake.
I glance at his face, unsure how much to divulge about the property. Although I’m certain he knows all about the men who came calling this week. I doubt anything of consequence happens in Porto that he doesn’t know.
“The vultures began circling before the body was cold,” I confess, painting a more visceral picture than my stomach can take.
Antonio smiles gently—as gentle as danger smiles. “I’m sure they did. It must be tiresome. What have you told them?”
“The same thing I’ve told you. The property is not for sale, and neither am I.”
He looks down at his trousers, smoothing the lightweight wool over his thigh. My pussy flutters as his fingers skim the thick muscle. It’s unexpected. And unwelcome. And entirely human.
“Marriage proposals?” He gauges my reaction with an eagle eye.
From men of all ages. More than I care to count.
I shrug.
“Did you order a tiered chocolate cake or a white one?” He says it with such a dry wit that I smile.A real smile. It’s been so long, I’m surprised the muscles still act voluntarily.