The Vineyards Of Calanetti - Rebecca Winters Mills & Boon e-Book Collections

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steal other men’s women.”

      “Oh.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Paul was such a done deal for her that she’d taken him out of the equation. But Rafe didn’t know that. For a second she debated keeping up the charade, if only to protect herself. But they had hit the point where that wasn’t fair. She couldn’t let Rafe go on thinking he was romancing another man’s woman. Especially not when she had been such a willing participant.

      She sucked in a breath, caught his gaze and quietly said, “I’m not engaged.”

      Rafe sat up in his chair. “What?”

      She felt her cheeks redden. “I’m not engaged.”

      His face twisted with incredulity. “You lied?”

      “No.” She bounced from her seat and paced away. “Not really. My boyfriend had asked me to marry him. I told him I needed time to think about it. I was leaving for Italy anyway—”

      He interrupted her as if confused. “So your boyfriend asked you to marry him and you ran away?”

      She swallowed. “No. I inherited the money for a plane ticket to come here to find Rosa’s relatives and I immediately tacked extra time onto my teaching tour. All that had been done before Paul proposed.”

      “So his proposal was a stopgap measure.”

      She frowned. “Excuse me?”

      “Not able to keep you from going to Italy, he tied you to himself enough that you would feel guilty if you got involved with another man while you were away.” He caught her gaze. “But it didn’t work, did it?”

      She closed her eyes. “No.”

      “It shouldn’t have worked. It was a ploy. And you shouldn’t feel guilty about anything that happened while you were here since you’re really not engaged.”

      “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I called him after we returned from Rome and officially rejected his proposal.”

      “You told him no?”

      She nodded. “And told him I might be staying in Italy.” She sucked in a breath. “He wished me luck.”

      Rafe sat back in his chair. “And so you are free.” He combed his fingers through his hair. Laughed slightly.

      The laugh kind of scared her. She’d taken away the one barrier she knew would protect her. All she had now to keep her from acting on her love for him was her willpower. Which she’d just proven wasn’t very strong.

      “I should go.”

      His gaze slowly met hers. “You haven’t finished eating.”

      His soulful eyes held hers and her stomach jumped. Everything about him called to her on some level. He listened when she talked, appreciated her work at his restaurant...was blisteringly attracted to her.

      What the hell would have happened if she hadn’t broken that kiss? What would happen if she stayed, finished her meal, let them have more private time? With Paul gone as protection, would he seduce her? And if she resisted...what would she say? Another lie? I don’t like you? I’m not interested? I don’t want to be hurt?

      The last wasn’t a lie. And it would work. But she didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to hear him tell her one more time that he couldn’t commit. She didn’t want this night to end on a rejection.

      “I want to go home.”

      His eyes on her, he rose slowly. “Let’s go, then. I will clean up in the morning.”

      Finally breaking eye contact, she walked to the front of Mancini’s to get her coat. Her legs shook. Her breaths hurt. Not because she knew she was probably escaping making love, but because he really was going to hurt her one day.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      THE NEXT MORNING, Rafe was in the dining room when Dani used her key to unlock the front door and enter Mancini’s. Around him, the waitresses and busboys busily set up tables. The wonderful aromas of his cooking filled the air. But when she walked in, Dani brought the real life to the restaurant. Dressed in a red sweater with a black skirt and knee-high boots, she was just the right combination of sexy and sweet.

      And she’d rejected him the night before.

      Even though she’d broken up with her man in America.

      Without saying good morning, without as much as meeting her gaze, he turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen to the prep tables where he inspected the handiwork of two chefs.

      He waved his hand over the rolled-out dough for a batch of ravioli. “This is good.”

      He tasted some sauce, inclined his head, indicating it was acceptable and headed for his workstation.

      Emory scrambled over behind him. “Is Daniella here?”

      “Yes.” But even before Rafe could finish the thought, she pushed open the swinging doors to the kitchen and entered. She strolled to his prep table, cool and nonchalant as if nothing had happened between them.

      But lots had happened between them. He’d kissed her. And she’d told him she didn’t have a fiancé. Then she’d run. Rejecting him.

      “Good morning.”

      He forced his gaze to hers. His eyes held hers for a beat before he said, “Good morning.”

      Emory caught her hands. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

      She laughed. “It was excellent.” She met Rafe’s gaze again. “Our chef is extraordinary.”

      His heart punched against his ribs. How could a man not take that as a compliment? She hadn’t just eaten his food the night before. She’d returned his kiss with as much passion and fervor as he’d put into it.

      Emory glowed. “This we know. And we count on you to make sure every customer knows.”

      “Oh, believe me. I’ve always been able to talk up the food from the bites you’ve given me. But eating an entire serving has seared the taste of perfection in my brain.”

      Emory grinned. “Great!”

      “I think our real problem will be that I’ll start stealing more bites and end up fat as a barrel.”

      Emory laughed but Rafe looked away, remembering his question from the night before. Are you watching your weight? One memory took him back to the scene, the mood, the moment. How nervous she’d seemed. How she’d jumped when his hand had brushed her back. How her jitters had disappeared while they were kissing and didn’t return until they’d stopped.

      Because she had to tell him about her fiancé.

      She wasn’t engaged.

      She had responded to him.

      Emory laughed. “Occupational hazard.”

      Her gaze ambled to Rafe’s again. All they’d had the night before was a taste of what could be between them. Yes, he knew he’d warned her off. But she’d still kissed him. He’d given her plenty of time to move away, but she’d stayed. Knowing his terms—that he didn’t want a relationship—she’d accepted his kiss.

      With their gazes locked, she couldn’t deny it. He could see the heat in her blue eyes.

      “From here on out, when we create a new dish or perfect an old one,” Emory continued, oblivious to the nonverbal conversation she and Rafe were having, “you will sample.”

      “I want her to have more than a sample.”

      The words sprang from him without any thought. But he wouldn’t take them back. He no longer wanted an affair with her. He now longed for it, yearned for it in the depths

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