LITMIR.BIZ

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trying to learn pazienza.” At her curious look, he explained, “Patience. All good things are worth waiting for, yes?”

      “They are. We’ve waited a long time for…this.” Nine whole years, and now that she’d felt his fingers on her hand, she craved the whole-body experience.

      “Do you know what I’d been thinking just before I got your e-mail?” he asked.

      She shook her head.

      “That my life’s been crazy and I wanted to slow down, enjoy a quiet evening, a nice lasagne. And then I read your message and thought, yes, this is what I want. To do these things, with this woman.”

      He’d really thought that? And yet, obviously, he’d chosen her company over that of whatever females were working on his current video. “Well, that’s what we’re doing,” she said, trying to regain control, “so let’s continue. The food is wonderful.”

      “I’m so glad you enjoy it. We should eat before it gets cold. And we’ll talk about…what would you like? Anything other than sex. You must help me be patient.”

      His wink made her smile. She considered various topics of conversation. If he got onto his career in music video, the romantic mood would be spoiled. After all, what was she thinking, contemplating sex with a man who’d chosen a career she couldn’t respect?

      No, enough. For tonight she wanted to preserve her rosy-colored romantic glasses. “If we’re to take up where we left off, then we need to go back. Let’s relive that summer, share the memories we’ve carried with us.” She slanted him a grin. “And I promise, I won’t mention sex unless you do.”

      He smiled. “You are a tease, bella. Very well then, do you want to know my very first thought when I arrived in Banff? It was that I’d circled halfway around the world, only to end up back home, in a small village in the mountains. Except with people who were far richer and spoke English.”

      “Your English wasn’t so great,” she remembered. “It’s sure improved, even though you’ve kept a touch of the accent.”

      “I was so eager to learn.” His dark eyes sparkled as he added, “And you were such a great teacher.”

      She flushed, thinking, as she knew he’d intended, of all the things they’d learned together. Mostly about their sexuality.

      They continued to talk casually, exchanging reminiscences, as they ate their main courses. Both had chosen meals they could eat with one hand, and it wasn’t long until their free hands were linked across the table. A connection, a bond, a hint of more to come.

      When their waiter cleared the empty plates and wine glasses, he asked, “Something more to drink?”

      “Coffee,” Rina said. She’d had more to drink than usual, not to mention being intoxicated by Giancarlo’s charm. And she had to drive home.

      Or did she? Would this evening really lead into bed? Either his or hers?

      “I’ll have coffee as well,” Giancarlo said. “Rina, dessert?”

      “We have an excellent tiramisu,” the waiter said.

      “I’m full,” she said. If there really was a possibility she and Giancarlo were going to have sex tonight, she didn’t want a bulging stomach.

      The waiter brought two cups of coffee, along with two liqueur glasses filled with something clear. “Sambuca,” he explained. “Compliments of Francesco. Please, enjoy.”

      “Would you tell him molte grazie?” Giancarlo said.

      Then, when the waiter had gone, he said, “Rina, will you excuse me a moment?”

      “Of course.” She needed a trip to the ladies’ room anyway.

      She collected her purse and made her way to the back of the restaurant, past a wall of photographs taken at one of Francesco’s earlier restaurants. Down a hallway she found a nicely lit bathroom in shades of pumpkin and stared at herself in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, wild hair, blouse slipping off one shoulder. She looked like a gypsy. Or a witch.

      Did Giancarlo actually find this picture appealing?

      Well, there was nothing much she could do to improve on it. No point trying to get a comb through those tangled curls. She splashed cold water on her cheeks, brushed her teeth, put on some lip gloss and made her way back to the table.

      Giancarlo rose to his feet and held her chair.

      Once she’d sat down, she slid her Sambuca across the table to him. She wanted to know what might come next, and this was a subtle way of asking his intentions. “I can’t drink this. I’m driving.”

      “Ah yes, you drove here. From North Vancouver, you said in your e-mail.” He slid the glass back. “I think you’ve had too much wine already to be driving.”

      “It’s a very long taxi ride to where I live.” And he’d been drinking too, so he could hardly suggest he’d drive her.

      “I think—” He broke off as Francesco again appeared at the table.

      This time, though, rather than speaking to them, the man broke into song. Opera. Rina recognized it immediately. “Nessun Dorma” from Turandot. Where the prince sings to Turandot, hoping to win her love.

      Giancarlo captured her left hand in both of his and winked, making her realize this was his doing.

      Rina didn’t know where to look—at the one Italian who was serenading her or the other who was gazing passionately across the table at her. She glanced around the restaurant, realizing all conversation had died and everyone else was watching Francesco. And her and Giancarlo, the favored couple.

      She shoved embarrassment away and gave herself up to the moment, absorbing the powerful voice and beautiful words, the warm clasp of Giancarlo’s hands. Savoring each sensation and filing it away so she’d never forget. A gift, from Giancarlo to her.

      When the song was finished, there was a moment of hush, then Francesco bowed and everyone in the restaurant burst into applause.

      “Thank you,” Rina told him, her words swallowed up in the clapping. Then, as the applause died down, she dug into her tiny stock of Italian. “Grazie.”

      “Prego, bella,” Francesco responded. “It’s my pleasure.” He strutted away, shoulders back and chest out, to be complimented by other diners as he crossed the restaurant.

      Rina said to Giancarlo, “How did you arrange that?”

      He shrugged. “They told me at the hotel, when they recommended this restaurant, that Francesco had studied opera and still sang on occasion. I thought you—we—might enjoy it. Something special, to mark our first night together.”

      She had to laugh. “As if champagne wasn’t enough?” And his company, and the way he looked at her with wholly masculine appreciation?

      “A man should treat his woman well.”

      His woman. Maybe she was, at least for tonight. Already her relationship with Al felt as if it had happened long ago.

      Rina raised the glass of Sambuca to her lips and tasted, savoring the licorice flavor. “If I can’t drive home anyhow, I might as well enjoy this.” She took another sip and said, feeling bold, “I seem to have a problem. I’m marooned downtown with no easy means of transportation.”

      “My hotel is less than a mile away.” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it, his lips soft and tantalizing, raising goose bumps. “It has a very large bed, an extra bathrobe and everything you could possibly want in the way of toiletries.”

      “You had me back at large bed,” she admitted softly, finally acknowledging to both of them that this was what she wanted. One night with this man who was both the old and the new Giancarlo. She’d take this one night, then see what happened next.

      “I’m

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