LITMIR.BIZ

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      GRACIE PUSHED THE fierce surge of energy from her body, pedalling so fast the usual fifteen-minute trip took only nine. She whipped upstairs to her apartment to quickly shower and change. She’d be only a few minutes late to the pasticceria, but on her way back out she nearly tripped over the elderly man checking the tires on her bike.

      ‘Alex.’ She smiled warmly, pleased to see him looking a bit better. But immediately she reproached him. ‘Why are you up and about so early?’

      ‘Your light battery is almost flat,’ he said gruffly.

      ‘You should still be in bed, recuperating.’

      ‘I wanted to see you.’ His eyes had a little of their usual sparkle back.

      ‘To find out about your roses?’ she teased. ‘Here.’ Gracie lifted the fresh-picked blooms from the basket. ‘They’re perfect, as you can see.’

      ‘I can.’ His hand shook slightly as he took them but he wasn’t studying the roses as much as he was scrutinising her.

      ‘You really should go back inside and rest.’ Gracie put her hands on her hips.

      ‘Stop fussing. Sofia was here half the night, fussing.’ He hesitated and finally looked down at the blooms in his hand. ‘You enjoyed the fireworks?’

      ‘I did,’ she said, instinctively wary.

      ‘I didn’t hear you come home last night. I wasn’t sure...’

      Gracie smiled even as she blushed with embarrassment. At least she had someone in her life who cared about her. And that was nice. ‘It was a late night. I ended up staying at a friend’s house.’

      There was a twinkle in Alex’s eye. ‘Sofia’s niece Stella swung by after the fireworks and showed us some photos from the palazzo’s event on her phone.’

      Photos? Gracie had forgotten that people might’ve taken pictures.

      ‘You went to the palazzo for the festival.’ Alex finally got to his point.

      ‘Yes.’ She abandoned any fleeting hope of keeping her exact whereabouts secret. ‘I met the villa’s owner when watering the roses and he invited me. I could hardly say no to the chance to get inside the palazzo.’

      ‘Of course not.’ Alex’s expression sharpened. ‘Was he nice?’

      Gracie wasn’t entirely sure that ‘nice’ was the best adjective to describe Rafael, but it would do. ‘He seemed to be.’

      ‘So my roses will be safe.’

      Gracie laughed. ‘He’d be crazy to touch them. I think he’s all about preserving his assets and he knows their value.’

      ‘I guess that’s good.’ But the old man didn’t smile. ‘Could you check on them again tonight, please? It’s going to be even hotter today.’

      ‘Are you sure you need me to?’ Gracie was mortified at the thought of going back there. Rafael would assume she’d become another of his ‘stalkers’.

      ‘Yes.’ Alex sat down heavily in his outdoor seat by his container garden and coughed a couple of times. ‘I really appreciate your help on this, Gracie,’ he wheezed. ‘It doesn’t take much for them to dehydrate.’

      She narrowed her gaze but as he peered up at her she sighed. Alex was incorrigible, but she was fond of him and now he’d taken a seat she could see he was truly struggling for breath. He was the first and best friend she’d made here, and she’d do anything for him.

      Rafael couldn’t get away from the villa fast enough. Overrun with leggy models, make-up artists, the photographer and his many intrusive assistants, his quiet had been shattered. Worse was the lingering thread of temptation that Grace had left—unravelling the last peace left in his mind. And he couldn’t help but agree with her assertion that pastries were better fresh, not frozen. It took only an hour of noisy distraction and interruption from all the officious assistants before he gave in and drove to Bellezzo.

      It wasn’t the largest village—merely a haphazard collection of old buildings clinging to the hillside right on the lakefront. According to the boundary sign, it had a population of just under six hundred people and apparently every last one of them was currently queuing in the town’s only pasticceria. It was a bar, bakery and café all bundled into one small shop on the corner of the central square. After parking the car, he glimpsed a familiar ancient bike propped against the wall of the alley next door but the delicious smell propelled him into the tiny café itself. He paused in the doorway, blinking at the number of people waiting to be served, all apparently unfazed by the length of the queue. The pastries had to be stellar because it wasn’t just tourists queuing, but locals as well. He couldn’t see through the crowd to scope the food in cabinets, but he could see above them to the staff behind the counter.

      Grace’s hair was swept back in a neat braid and that fresh, sparkling smile was on her lips as she expertly filled delicate-looking pastries. She wasn’t serving but baking. As she worked, she helped the tourists who spoke little Italian with their orders—translating, interpreting, laughing. It was crowded and busy and looked and smelled insanely delicious. His stomach growled.

      ‘I need another dozen, Gracie,’ an older Italian woman, clearly the boss, called.

      ‘On it.’

      Gracie. It suited her. He ignored the curious glances of other customers and watched her work. Everyone watching was salivating, including him. But he had some other reactions that weren’t anywhere near as appropriate for a public place. Breathing out, he rested his eyes by looking around. There were a few small tables crammed inside—all occupied by satisfied customers drinking coffee and eating. A few more were leaning against a tall counter.

      Pictures of the lake hung on the walls, a few signs advertised the specials of the day—it seemed the place opened till lunch and then opened again at night for coffee and pizza. A couple of newer-looking signs advertised their catering service and also picnic packing for those hiring boats for a float on the lake. Clearly the business was aiming to make the most of the summer season and the influx of people.

      He glanced again at the queue ahead of him. A couple of guys—clearly tourists—were watching Grace with the same kind of hunger he was desperately trying to suppress.

      She was so skilled he knew she’d had serious training. After another two trays were done, she helped serve.

      Rafael watched with increasing dismay as the pastry cabinet was depleted by the million customers ahead of him. His mouth was watering and his stomach was rumbling worse than hers had been first thing this morning. But worse was the thrum of blood beating around his body. Finally he got to the front—and met her gaze.

      ‘Oh.’

      Rafe smiled at the flush that immediately mottled her skin.

      ‘I really need food,’ he all but begged her before she could speak. ‘Enough for me and those fashion-shoot people.’

      ‘Fashion-shoot people?’ Her eyebrows lifted sceptically. ‘I didn’t think models ate anything... I definitely wouldn’t have thought they’d eat pastries filled with custard and cream.’

      ‘These pastries would tempt anyone.’ He was dying of hunger. For everything. Recklessness fired in his blood. ‘You made them. You’re the temptress.’

      That colour built in her cheeks again, but before she could speak, he put in another plea. ‘They’re going fast. I really don’t want to miss out.’

      ‘We always sell out before lunchtime.’

      ‘I’m not surprised.’ He smiled at the pride in her voice.

      ‘You’d like a selection?’

      Right now he’d take anything she cared to toss his way. ‘Enough for nine people. And me.’

      ‘You

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