Vivienne Wallington - The Last Time I Saw Venice

Simon had always been considerate that way, Annabel remembered with a bittersweet pang. At least, until the tragedy of Lily’s death had changed him, turning him into a closed, distant stranger.

“Let’s just play it by ear,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Is your hotel far from here?”

The firm, well-shaped lips she’d always found so irresistible—and still did, she realized with a tremor—eased into the familiar curved smile she’d thought lost forever, at least to her. Seeing it again gave her spirits a lift. “Actually, I’m staying here,” he said. “Fourth floor.”

She almost missed her step. Staying here? On the floor above hers? Maybe his room, his bed, were directly over hers. How would she ever be able to sleep, knowing he was so close to her, just a few floorboards separating them?

Dear Reader,

Well, as promised, the dog days of summer have set in, which means one last chance at the beach reading that’s an integral part of this season (even if you do most of it on the subway, like I do!). We begin with The Beauty Queen’s Makeover by Teresa Southwick, next up in our MOST LIKELY TO… miniseries. She was the girl “most likely to” way back when, and he was the awkward geek. Now they’ve all but switched places, and the fireworks are about to begin.…

In From Here to Texas, Stella Bagwell’s next MEN OF THE WEST book, a Navajo man and the girl who walked out on him years ago have to decide if they believe in second chances. And speaking of second chances (or first ones, anyway), picture this: a teenaged girl obsessed with a gorgeous college boy writes down some of her impure thoughts in her diary, and buries said diary in the walls of an old house in town. Flash forward ten-ish years, and the boy, now a man, is back in town—and about to dismantle the old house, brick by brick. Can she find her diary before he does? Find out in Christine Flynn’s finale to her GOING HOME miniseries, Confessions of a Small-Town Girl. In Everything She’s Ever Wanted by Mary J. Forbes, a traumatized woman is finally convinced to come out of hiding, thanks to the one man she can trust. In Nicole Foster’s Sawyer’s Special Delivery, a man who’s played knight-in-shining armor gets to do it again—to a woman (cum newborn baby) desperate for his help, even if she hates to admit it. And in The Last Time I Saw Venice by Vivienne Wallington, a couple traumatized by the loss of their child hopes that the beautiful city that brought them together can work its magic—one more time.

So have your fun. And next month it’s time to get serious—about reading, that is.…

Enjoy!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

VIVIENNE WALLINGTON

lives in Melbourne, Australia. Previously a librarian and children’s writer, she now writes romance full-time. Reading, family and travel are her other main interests. She has written nineteen Harlequin Romance novels under the pseudonym Elizabeth Duke and now writes for Silhouette Books under her real name. Vivienne and her husband, John, have a daughter and son and five wonderful grandchildren. She would love to hear from readers, who can write to her c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279 or e-mail viv.wallington@bigpond.com.

To Karin, who loves Venice, too.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Annabel gazed across the sparkling Venetian Lagoon and couldn’t believe she was here, that she’d actually come back.

Romantic Venice…city of dreams and fantasies.

Crushed dreams, fizzled fantasies.

No! Her chin came up. She’d thrashed all this out in her mind before leaving chilly, wet London, and decided it was worth risking a few bittersweet memories. Venice was where she’d been happy once, where she and Simon had met and shared the most rapturous few days—and unforgettable nights—of their lives. All her memories of Venice were joyful ones. It was the trauma and heartbreak that had followed later in Sydney that she didn’t want to dwell on.

And she wouldn’t! She was here to relax, to recuperate from the flu and pneumonia, and to luxuriate in the soothing magic of Venice.

Everything was just as she remembered, just as magical…the quaint canals and arched bridges, the ever-changing light, the graceful Gothic palaces and grand churches, the buzzing water traffic—and the same hordes of swarming tourists.

And this time she was one of them. Four years ago, she’d been here for a law conference, to learn more about her chosen career. To an ambitious, hardworking Sydney lawyer who’d never been to Europe, it was a dream come true when her firm had sent her to Venice for a week.

A dream in more ways than one, she thought, her eyes misting. On her very first day in Venice, another more heart-stopping dream had materialized.

Painful as it was to think of Simon, her memories of their first meeting and their blossoming romance in Venice were still sweet, still as filled with a piquant nostalgia as a dim, happy dream. The unbelievable way they’d met still brought a smile to her lips, even now.

She let her gaze veer back across the water, seeking out the glossy black gondolas moving with leisurely skill between the other faster boats.

Four years ago, she’d taken a gondola ride along the Grand Canal with a group of fellow conference delegates. If she hadn’t stupidly decided to stand up on the seat to take some photographs, she might never have met Simon. A water taxi had swished past at the vital moment, creating a wave that made the gondola rock precariously. She’d lost her balance and tumbled overboard, landing with a splash and a gasp of shock in the cold, deep green water of the Grand Canal.

It was Simon, the sole passenger in the water taxi, who had dived in to save her as she surfaced, his boat having immediately circled and come back. With a strong arm clamped round her waist, he’d dragged her to his hovering water taxi. Her friends in the gondola had cheered and waved before continuing on their way, confident they were leaving her in good hands.

She smiled, remembering her first proper look at her husky, dark-haired rescuer as he’d helped her into a seat. He had the physique of an Olympic athlete and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen; he looked incredibly sexy, with his black hair still dripping and sunlit rivulets running down his strong, chiseled face.

She recalled how she’d blinked up at him as he’d checked her over, mesmerized by the beads of water sparkling on the ends of his dark eyelashes, above the brilliant sheen of his eyes. Water was streaming from her own hair and rolling down her face and shirt, making her acutely conscious that her soaked T-shirt, with only a flimsy sports bra beneath, did nothing to hide the nub of her nipples or the rounded curve of her breasts.

She’d thought him Italian at first sight, a classic Romeo with that black hair and those piercing blue eyes. But the moment he spoke, she realized he was Australian, just like herself. An Australian with an Italian name— Pacino—and an Italian grandfather. He was working in New York at the time, training with one of the world’s top neurosurgeons. He’d come to Italy to give a medical lecture at Padua University and was only in Venice for four days before heading back to New York, while she had to go back to Sydney at the end of the week.