Lynn Raye Harris - Men In Uniform - Captivated By The Prince

Arranging herself on the pillows, Emily fluffed out her long hair, moistened her lips, listened—and waited.

Across the landing Alessandro, after tossing and turning all night, found himself pacing the floor like a pent-up warrior on the eve of battle. Emerging from his angry introspection for a few moments, he noticed Emily’s door open. Feeling sure that he had closed it behind him earlier in the evening, he felt a rush of concern for her. Pulling on his jeans, he crossed his room to investigate.

Leaning against the wall just outside his bedroom, he paused, consciously stilled his breathing, and listened. They were still alone in the house; he was sure of it. The only noises he could detect were the typical muted creaks and groans of old timber as it cooled and relaxed after the heat of the day.

But, just to make absolutely certain Emily was safe, he crossed the landing, taking care to move silently, and stared into her room.

With her senses on full alert Emily detected the movement even though she heard nothing. Licking her lips one last time, she closed her eyes and concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths. Her limbs felt deliciously suspended and a seductive lethargy rolled over her…her nerve-endings grew increasingly sensitive as she lay still and contemplated Alessandro’s imminent arrival.

Emily…his wife, Alessandro mused, incredulous that it was so as he gazed at her still figure. Could it be possible that she was even more beautiful asleep than awake? Then, remembering the strength of character that burned in her eyes, and the firm set of her mouth whenever she was angry with him, he smiled and shook his head in a quick gesture of denial. And she was lovelier still when she smiled, he remembered. And when she laughed…

His gaze lingered on her mouth. The temptation to cross the room, to match his length to hers and to tease open those full, sensuous lips…lips he was sure waited like the rest of her to be awakened—

He stopped himself. The open door was her protection, he realised. How could he surprise her when she was beginning at last to trust him? He could not take advantage of the open door. He would not frighten her by entering the room when she was asleep. Spinning around, he returned to his own room after making sure that his wife’s bedroom door was closed securely behind him.

Breakfast was a tense affair. Cursing herself for behaving like a lovesick fool, Emily accepted that she had received no more than she deserved…which was precisely nothing.

Alessandro seemed cool and distant, though as polite as ever. Dismissing the cook who had come in to prepare the food for them, he insisted on waiting on her himself at breakfast.

‘This really is far too much for me,’ Emily protested, when he handed her a dish piled high with freshly peeled and sliced peaches, and a second plate covered in a selection of cold meats and cheeses.

‘Eat,’ he commanded impatiently, returning to the table where their breakfast buffet had been laid out only to return with some warm bread rolls. ‘You’ll need your strength today.’

‘Need my strength?’ Emily said suspiciously. ‘For what?’

‘We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.’

Watching him tear into his own roll, and stab at a plate of cheese with the energy of ten, Emily felt her spirits take a dive. Hiking, she guessed—at the very least. Mountaineering, probably—both of which filled her with dread. ‘You mean a day of physical activities?’

‘Mmm,’ Alessandro confirmed gruffly, his eyes glittering with a dangerous light. Draining his coffee cup fast, he pushed it away. ‘Grape-treading,’ he rapped purposefully.

‘Grape-treading?’ Emily echoed, following him with her eyes as he strode to view the massed fields of vines through the open window. The occasion was sure to be fascinating to watch, she thought. Her glance embraced Alessandro’s powerful forearms and the broad sweep of his chest. What part would he play in the proceedings? she wondered, hoping it would require him to strip to the waist again.

‘What?’ he demanded, thrusting his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans as he turned around. ‘What are you staring at?’ he repeated, more insistently.

Emily tore her gaze away from the well-muscled thighs so tantalisingly defined in snug-fitting denim. ‘Nothing,’ she said dismissively, with a flip of her hand. ‘I’d like that very much. For you to take me to the grape-treading, I mean.’

‘Good.’

That voice again, she realised, turning her face away so that he couldn’t see her reddening under his calculating and extremely disturbing gaze. ‘I had no idea that such archaic practices survived,’ she said, rustling up her most professional manner.

‘Just about everything is mechanised these days.’ Alessandro said, accommodating her approach. ‘But for the highest quality wines only an experienced eye can judge the grapes. So we keep our vines low and pick by hand. It is hard work, and must be completed quickly before the heat of the sun raises acidity levels.’

She tensed as he prowled closer. ‘I see…’

‘Oh, do you?’ he murmured sardonically, somewhere very close to her ear.

‘But surely you can’t tread all those grapes out there?’ she said edgily, staring fixedly out of the window as she waited for her face to cool down.

‘Of course not, ‘ Alessandro said, standing right beside her. ‘The grape-treading is purely symbolic. It marks the start of the harvest.’

He refused to take the hint as she moved away, and suddenly was right in front of her again.

Glancing from side to side, Emily realised she was boxed into a corner between an old oak dresser and a bookcase. How on earth had that happened? she wondered, sagging with relief when he moved away.

‘Different varieties of grape ripen at different times,’ he continued evenly, as if their game of tag, at which he was clearly a master, had never taken place. ‘And when they are all safely gathered in we celebrate, with a proper Festa del Villaggio. The custom of treading some of the grapes the old way after the first picking is said to placate the forces of nature.’

Emily began to relax. The history of the grape was surprisingly interesting…or perhaps it was more relief that, having distracted them both by explaining it, Alessandro was allowing the sexual tension between them to ease. She inclined her head to demonstrate her fascination with the subject, hoping her body would take the hint and calm down, too.

‘It is also carried out to ensure good weather,’ Alessandro went on, in the same soothing tone. Without any warning, he crossed the room, seized her arms, and held her close. ‘So, Emily,’ he demanded impatiently, ‘will you come?’

‘I’d love to.’ After all, she persuaded herself as his hands relaxed, the chance to get to know her husband a little better, to see him interacting with the villagers, was an opportunity that might never come again.

‘Great. You’ll have to get changed first.’

‘You mean it’s today—right now?’ She should have guessed! ‘Why can’t I go like this?’

‘Well, if you want to look like you’re heading for court—’

‘Without a jacket—?’As she pulled a face his lips tugged up in a half-smile. ‘You’re teasing me.’

‘Am I?’ he murmured provocatively.

‘OK, so now what? Point me in the direction of the nearest shops?’ Emily demanded, confronting Alessandro, hands on hips when he started laughing. ‘Please, Alessandro. Don’t be difficult. I want to go with you. Just tell me where the shops are and I’ll go and buy something suitable to wear.’

‘OK. I’ll take you.’

‘Thank you,’ Emily said graciously.

‘We can walk there,’ he said, when she stopped at the passenger door of the four-wheel drive he’d told her he used to get about the estate.