Page 11 of Vengeful Vows

He’s as impossible as he is determined.

“Are you always so blunt, Mr. Donati?”

Ever so slightly, he moves back so he can take me in. “Only when I see something I want.”

Frantically I try to steady my emotions. His eyes are dark and enigmatic, igniting a flurry of response deep in me. “You may have gotten the wrong idea.”

“About?”

“I’m not the kind of woman who sleeps around.” But if I were, there’s no doubt he could charm me into bed simply by crooking his finger.

Apparently unfazed, he tips his head to one side. “I’m interested in something long-term, I assure you, Bella. Marriage. Children.”

Blankly I stare at him, scarcely able to process what he is saying. Are they just words to disarm me so that he can get what he wants? Before I can formulate a question, he speaks.

“Don’t insult me again by assuming I’m lying.”

Scarlet floods my cheeks. Am I that transparent?

“If you have objections to seeing me again, let’s get that on the table right now.”

“What if we are not compatible?”

He releases my hands to tip my chin back. His eyes are enigmatic. And his smile is filled with confidence. “Is that a concern for you, Ms. Calabrese? Because I assure you, it’s not for me.”

Unable to continue to meet the intensity in his eyes, I glance away.

“I’ll take that as interest.”

It is: pure, raw desire for him.

When the song ends, he glides us to a gentle stop. Though we should naturally drift apart, we don’t.

Eventually, a full ten, maybe fifteen seconds later, he releases me with a small, courteous bow. “Thank you for the honor.”

“Do you always say the right thing?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Most definitely not. In fact, my late mother feared I’d never become civilized.”

So the air of danger I sensed earlier was more than a figment of my imagination. I’d do well to be wary of him. But I ignore my instincts.

He reaches for my glass and offers it to me before picking up his own. “To us,” he proposes.

With a few words and a masterful touch, Marcello Donati has tipped my world off its axis.

Helpless to resist his charm, I touch the rim of my flute to his.

I take a sip, but my insides are in turmoil. “I think I’ve had enough.”

As he plucks the glass from my hand, he nods. “Would you like something to eat?”

After the meal we’ve had, that’s the last thing I can think of.

“Perhaps another dance?”

“I get teased that I turn into a pumpkin at nine o’clock. If you’ll excuse me, I have an early morning.”

“I’ll drive you.”

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