Bella Signorina

Bella Signorina by Denysé Bridger

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. Bella Signorina COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Denysé Bridger All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Contact Information: [email protected] Cover Art by Nicola Martinez The Wild Rose Press PO Box 706 Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706 Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com Publishing History First Sweetheart Rose Edition, 2008 Published in the United States of America

Acknowledgments The following story is based in part on the song Bella Bella Signorina, as recorded by Patrizio Buanne. The concept and select lyrics are herein used with the approval and expressed written permission of Steve Crosby, copyright holder of the English Lyric. To hear the song this story is based on, please visit Patrizio on MySpace at: http://www.myspace.com/patrizioofficial, or visit his official website: http://www.patriziobuanne.com

Praise for Bella Signorina Bella is one of those rare romances that made my heart flutter and left me smiling long after I read it. The scenery was as vivid as the characters, and using Patrizio’s song as the backdrop added to the sensual atmosphere of the story. I know that Patrizio was the catalyst for the story, and you’ve done an excellent job of portraying the old-world romance he exudes. Thank you for letting me read it! — Kelly Wallace, Romance Author Romance readers will be pleased with Denysé Bridger’s Bella Signorina. She has the incredible ability to write romances that are satisfying without losing the delicate balance between tastefully sweet and undeniably passionate, and Bella Signorina is no exception. Denysé’s characters are always intelligent, respectful and passionate. Based on the beautifully moving music of the talented Patrizio Buanne, this story offers a tasteful glimpse into the lives and emotions of a man and a woman who aren’t too proud to admit their feelings while accepting the love and affection of the other. — Laurie Damron, Romance Reviewer I really like Bella Signorina - enough fantasy and romance to whisk you away, but tempered with realism to make you think it could really happen to you. I love it. — Lisa Fitzpatrick, Patrizio Buanne fan ( United Kingdom ) This is a story that will make women around the world swoon... — Marquete Williams, Romance Author

Dedication For Patrizio…

They come to dance and find romance in via Roma In every bar a sweet guitar and sounds of laughter Café Rosati was crowded again, as it was most summer nights. Bianca Marino closed her eyes and sighed inwardly, absorbing the cacophony of sounds and emotions that pulsed all around her. Only an hour before closing, but the energy that permeated the café made you feel like a lifetime could be packed into a single hour. Or a single dance, with the right partner. The ambience here was unique, even in Rome. People from all walks of life socialized with no discrimination. Glittering diamonds adorned graceful bodies, the cars outside were worth a king’s ransom, and every designer in the country was well represented by the fashions on display. But it wasn’t the wealth or the fashion that had kept Bianca coming back to this particular café night after night. The pull was the beautiful young man who turned up toward closing time. A tingle woke at the back of her neck, and for just a moment, she savored the sensation and let it fan outward, washing over her senses like a caressing whisper until it became a tremor of excitement. Then she opened her eyes and turned, instinct bringing her gaze to the precise spot where he now stood at the bar. Her look drifted, brushing over him with the adoring sensuality of a lover’s touch. He was almost six feet tall. His short, dark hair was perfectly coiffed and combed, but one stubborn lock refused to stay in place, perpetually falling onto his forehead. His smooth, lightly tanned skin was flawless, his dark blue eyes sharp and observant. He had long fingers, artistic hands that moved with casual grace as he spoke. His physical presence wasn’t imposing, yet an energy around him made it impossible to pull your gaze away once you’d noticed him, as though music pulsed through his veins, an integral part of his life’s blood that 1

Denysé Bridger touched everyone he looked at, as well as everyone who looked at him. Tonight he wore the mix of easy elegance and style she’d come to expect. Dark, tailored pants, snow-white shirt, polished shoes, his jacket was on the bar. Around his neck was the glitter of gold, a simple cross that fit him as naturally as everything else. Gold watch on the left wrist, ring on the right hand, gold rope bracelet on that wrist. He laughed at something that was said and turned to order a drink. Bianca hugged herself for a moment, and wondered if tonight would be the night she stopped looking and actually spoke to him at last. Her speculation ended when a voice spoke into her right ear and she was forced to turn to see who had just asked her to dance. She danced a lot at this café. The evenings were often the only time she was totally happy, lost in the music and the precise rhythms it inspired. “Gianni.” He kissed her hand. Gianni was a casual friend, she enjoyed his company, but nothing about him had ever intrigued her in a romantic way. She rose, allowing him to lead her to the small area reserved for dancing, all the while discreetly keeping one eye on the man she’d been observing. Her heart actually fluttered when she saw him looking directly at her, his smile polite and dazzling. over

I simply smiled and raised a glass when she walked

Then love began, she took my hand, and said let’s dance… Bianca allowed the music to surge into her being, until the only thing real was the easy rhythm of motion that sent her spinning into the pulsing sounds of the catchy song. She’d danced with Gianni many times, and no thought was involved, only the perfect movement and the music. He was an excellent partner, and as always, the song ended too soon. Tonight, as often happened, a small burst of applause was offered for the performance they’d given. She smiled, pleased by the appreciation of the café’s 2

Bella Signorina patrons. When she turned to go back to her table, the handsome stranger at the bar lifted his glass and saluted her. For just an instant, the café and its patrons vanished, and the only things she saw were his sparkling eyes and the humor that emanated from him. Excitement surged into her veins, making her reckless and determined. Bianca murmured an excuse to Gianni, then changed direction and headed directly for the beautiful man she’d wanted to meet. When she stood in front of him, she offered her hand. He took it, kissed it, and waited, faint challenge in his eyes. She ignored the tremor working its way into her knees and making them wobbly. “Let’s dance,” she invited. Laughter accompanied the shake of his head. Bianca eyed him with amusement. “Why?” “I don’t dance, bella.” His voice was soft, richly modulated, and layered with too many subtleties to readily define them all. “Of course you do,” she countered, her head tilting to one side. “I’ve seen you dance here.” “Not like you do,” he replied and reached for his wine. She caught his hand and tugged, drawing him along with gentle insistence as she walked back to the dance floor, her gaze locked with his startled look. The fourpiece band was just beginning a lively number when Bianca struck a pose and waited for him to take the lead. He did, and she was totally unprepared for the shock of awareness that went through her when he pulled her close and they started to move like one person. And then this Bella Bella Signorina, with a smile so tender She put the rhythm in my feet, as we danced this crazy beat She’d often imagined how being in his arms would feel, how his lean muscles would feel pressed to her soft curves. Nothing had prepared her for the reality. Her heartbeat raced, and she was breathless and dizzy with the excitement of being so close He moved with defined, 3

Denysé Bridger fluid ease, his body seeming a part of the music as they were guided by the upbeat tempo. He held her captive with his look, his gaze never wavering, and she was close enough to see the thick, sable-colored lashes that framed his eyes. His face was strikingly contoured, smooth planes and angles in a symmetry that was not perfect, yet exactly right. His smile was unaffectedly warm, his mouth generous and sensually appealing. The heat seeping into her body centered low in her back, where his palm rested, keeping her close as they went through the steps of the sultry Samba with a skill and flawless timing that would have made anyone watching believe they’d been dancing together forever. The music ended and for a few timeless seconds, she let herself relax against him, leaning into his chest as she listened to the steady pulse of his heartbeat as it calmed. His hand slid into her hair and eased her away so he could kiss her forehead. She was still catching her breath, and lost in the giddiness of being in his arms when she looked up and saw the gleam of pleasure in his eyes. The trembling inside her fought to become a visible response he would soon see. Was she ready to permit him to see how deeply he affected her? Without a word, they moved seamlessly into the next dance. So close, she caught the light, cool scent of his cologne, mingled with the aura of excitement that not only surrounded him, but came from within. Internal fire surged through her veins, every inch of her body was attuned to his mood and motion as they twirled and separated, then came back together in a heady rush of perfect, synchronized movement. The music ended with a pulsing beat, and she was left staring up into his glittering eyes again, certain he was laughing behind his perfect smile. Equally certain he knew how deeply he was affecting her senses. “What now, my bella signorina?” So captivated by his presence, she hadn’t noticed the passage of time. She glanced around and saw the staff clearing glasses, placing chairs on tabletops, and waving to people as they left. The café was closing. “This isn’t the only place to dance,” she replied, 4

Bella Signorina tilting her head to one side so she could look up at him. He considered her statement then lifted her hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “Ciao, bella.” She refused to release his hand and one eyebrow arched in query. “Don’t play shy, signore,” she said. “The pretense doesn’t suit you, and I know it’s not really the truth.” “Stefano,” he told her. Pleased at the tiny triumph of gaining his name, she smiled. “Stefano. It suits you.” She stretched up to kiss his cheek. “I’m Bianca.” “So, do we dance until morning’s light, or would you like a drink?” “Maybe both.” His laughter whispered over her skin like the stroke of silk flowing over marble. They stopped to collect her jacket from her table, and then made a quick stop at the bar to retrieve his jacket, before leaving the café for the cool darkness of the night. Outside, Bianca looked around, wondering which car was his. He took her elbow and smiled. “I walked,” he stated. “My apartment isn’t far from here.” She nodded and slid her hand into his, laughing when he looked at her with a glimmer of surprise deep in his eyes. He clearly hadn’t expected the simple intimacy of her gesture. His fingers closed around hers and they strolled the avenue in silence for a short time. “Would you like an espresso?” Their walk had taken them to a place well known to all residents of Rome. The Spanish Steps were only a couple of blocks ahead, and the summer night was warm and pleasant. “Only if we can drink it on the steps.” “Not at my apartment,” he finished with a laugh. She didn’t answer, merely smiled an agreement. For several weeks, she’d been watching this man. In that time, she’d been forced to admit the attraction could be dangerous to her peaceful life. He was mysterious, handsome, and a stranger who might hold more power over her heart than anyone she’d met in years. They reached the steps and she sat. “There’s a coffee5

Denysé Bridger shop just over there,” she pointed. “I know. I’ll be right back.” He hesitated, clearly reluctant to leave her by herself, despite the fact they were pretty much alone. “Come with me, bella.” He held out his hand. She shook her head. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” She smiled. “I can see the shop from here, and you can see me.” He waited a moment longer then nodded. Stefano kept a close eye on the pretty dancer, looking over his shoulder often while he walked to the small café. She was lovely, and he’d seen her many times, always enchanted by her presence, but never inclined to find out if the outward beauty was all there was. If she was another vain and brainless girl, he didn’t want his illusion shattered. The romanticism of the thought made him smile. He wasn’t as jaded as he pretended if he was still protecting his heart with illusions. Less than fifteen minutes after he’d left, he rejoined her and handed her a steaming cup of espresso. “This place feels so different at night,” Bianca murmured, her gaze scanning the area. In a matter of hours, thousands of people would begin their daily movements, passing over the steps, not noticing anything but the need to be wherever they were headed. “There’s peace here now.” “Is that why you dance, to find peace?” She sipped her coffee and considered an answer. “The music is freedom, and the motion is passion. Sometimes the only passion that matters.” The answer surprised him, simple words with complex meaning. Her voice, soft and introspective, was layered with subtle emotion. “All passion matters, mia bella,” he commented. “It’s what gives us life.” “Or burns it out of us.” He turned on the steps and faced her. Then he touched her chin and gently turned her head until their gazes met. “Who abused your love so fully that you can believe that?” “People destroy each other for love,” she replied after a lengthy pause. 6

Bella Signorina Stefano shook his head. “Love is the only gift worth having, signorina. Men live and die for love.” He had searched long enough in his own lifetime to find the passion he’d seen between his parents to know how true that was, and he had refused to accept anything less for himself. When he gave his heart to love, the act would be without reserve or doubt. “Who are you, signore?” He was startled again, twice in less than five minutes. “Would you like to walk?” She laughed in the growing darkness. Stefano felt the sound ripple the length of his spine, as though cool, flawless satin had glided over him. “Where are we to go, Stefano?” “I think you’ll like the place,” he observed, a hint of irony texturing the subtle undertone of his voice. She eyed him for a few timeless moments, then nodded and rose. He smiled when she offered her hand, and he curled his fingers around hers in a loose, but firm, grip, aware of the soft strength in her grasp, as well as the satiny feel of her skin. “So, is there a wife hidden somewhere?” He laughed. “No. What about you? A husband who will come looking for me before dawn?” “Before dawn?” She laughed. “You seem to assume I’ll still be here by then?” He grinned. “I think you might be,” he admitted. “But, you haven’t answered my question.” “The only thing greater than your charm is your arrogance, Stefano.” “Maybe,” he conceded with an unconcerned shrug. She shook her head, amused, and sipped her coffee. “How does a man with so much passion not have the woman of his dreams in his arms every night?” “I could ask you the same question,” he pointed out. “Why are you alone?” Her laughter washed over him again. She stopped walking to look up at him. “No one I’ve met has inspired the things I need to feel.” “What do you need?” “To be respected for who I am, for what makes me 7

Denysé Bridger unique.” She tilted her head to one side and held his level gaze. “I need to be given all the things I’m expected to provide, and that seems to be quite beyond many men.” She paused, before adding in a quiet, earnest tone, “Real men, those who understand the value of a smart woman, also see her beauty is in her wisdom, and her spirit.” “And her ability to be all things without effort, because she is all things naturally,” he concluded, genuinely pleased at the startled flicker of surprise his words lit in her eyes. “We’re here,” he announced, indicating the building they’d reached. She looked up, and her smile was radiant in the soft glow of the nearby streetlight. “La Galleria d’arte di Idillio,” she murmured. “I love this place.” “It’s mine.” His voice expressed his pleasure and pride at her appreciation, and he dug out the key that would unlock the doors to the small gallery. “Yours?” There was enough real shock in her voice to make him stop as he held the door open. “Why does that surprise you so much?” When she’d entered the gallery, he locked the doors and turned on the lights. “I’ve come here a number of times, and I’ve never seen you,” she replied. “I’ve never seen you,” he noted. “Except at the café.” With a turn of her head, she gazed around the entry. “I’ve always felt this place was a tribute to love, and romance.” “It is. My father began the collection for my mother.” “Your father was a romantic?” “My father was a gentleman, in the truest sense of that word,” Stefano said, his heart filled with the familiar sense of loneliness and pride combined. “He lived la dolce vita,” he smiled, “with the passion of a man who loved all life had to offer, good and bad.” “He’s gone?” A curt nod was all he could offer without revealing how deeply the loss still affected him. He set his coffee on the reception desk, hung his jacket on a rack, and then did the same with Bianca’s things. Then he took her arm and led her to a small area that had been his work for the past year. 8

Bella Signorina “This is my latest addition to the collection.” She wandered the area, studying the beautiful collection of photographs. Each one was in a different area of Italy, and the women smiling and lovely, but each as unique as her surroundings. “What do you see?” “Beauty. Romance.” Bianca stared at the photographs for a few moments longer, considering them with serious thought, then turned to face him. “In every photograph, your subjects are not looking at you, but at the camera. They’re seeing the opportunity, but not your reason for wanting them.” Something fluttered against Stefano’s chest from the inside, an excitement he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He let his gaze drift, cataloging the woman in front of him. The top of her head was level with his chin when she stood next to him. She had long, wavy hair, dark brown with a distinct tint that caught the glow from the lights and turned her thick mane into a mass of warm, burnished auburn. Her eyes resembled Chinese jade, and her wide, full mouth curved upward, as though a secret hid behind her smile. She was curvaceous and feminine, effortlessly graceful, and with minimal makeup, appeared very much without artifice of any kind. “What is my reason for wanting them?” He forced his tone to calm and curious, sincerely interested in her reply, but also caught in the spell she exerted. Part of his mind still watched her, measuring the emotion and internal workings of her mind as she analyzed his photographs with real interest. Her teal-colored dress was simple in design, flared skirt unevenly cut at the hem, swirling around shapely legs as she walked, pausing often to peer intently at the images on the walls. The upper half of the dress clung to luscious contours, and the silver crucifix, her only jewelry, drew his eyes to the shadow between her breasts. He wanted very much to touch her, but instead stuffed his hands into his pockets and joined her. She stopped at one of the last photos then looked over her shoulder. “She loved you.” “So she said.” His voice was casual, unconcerned. “You didn’t love her?” 9

Denysé Bridger “Not the way she thought I should.” “You wanted love from every woman here, yet not one saw who you really are,” she observed softly, sadness evident in her tone. His eyebrow rose. “Who do you think I am, bella?” “How honest do you think I should be?” “I admire honesty, signorina,” he told her, his head tilted to once side as he watched her and absorbed her understanding of him. “I respect the courage involved in offering it to anyone.” “But do you respect it if the object of discussion is you?” She glanced at the images again and then back. “Now you’re beginning to worry me,” he teased with a smile. He was fascinated by her intelligence and her insight. She looked past his appearance and his presence to probe his secrets, and whatever she was seeing made her even more alluring. “You want attention,” she told him, not a shred of question in the observation, only the certainty that she was right. “You enjoy women vying for your favor. Their attention gives you security, even while it makes you lonely. Because you know they don’t love you, but the image you present to keep the world out of your heart and your head. You’re a complex man, Stefano.” She smiled. “I don’t know your last name.” “Esposito.” He bowed his head in a gesture of introduction. She nodded. “Marino,” she offered, so that he knew hers, too. “Why are you asking me to analyze you?” She walked around the showroom again, stopping to look at the various displays. She halted at one of the cases that housed a collection of love letters. “These are beautiful. Do you know who wrote them?” He walked after her, not willing to let her place distance of any kind between them. He loved the way she moved, the seductive sway of her hips, the way her dress fitted over lush curves that tempted his mind to erotic fantasies. “A friend of my father’s,” he answered when he stood beside her. “To my mother. When he was killed, they drew comfort from each other, and theirs became a love affair 10

Bella Signorina that lasted forty years.” “The love affair that you seek in your own life now.” He smiled but remained silent on the matter, and she moved to another display case, one dedicated to his family’s past. He watched this time, but didn’t follow. He knew what she would see next. “This ring is exquisite,” she noted. “I’ve never seen another one like it.” The piece was an antique, but beautifully wrought. The gold base shone as though it had been forged and shaped the day before. The design was unique, a horizontal figure eight, the symbol of infinity, with a perfect emerald balanced in the center and outlined in tiny, sparkling diamonds. “My grandmother’s engagement ring,” he informed her. “She wanted me to have it, and I wanted it to be here, where many people could see it.” “Is she still alive?” “Yes. She has a small villa in Amalfi, I see her often.” “Has she seen this, Stefano?” Bianca smiled as she glanced around. “Everything here fills the heart with peace, and hope, and joy. The emotions are overwhelming some days when I’ve come here.” “Grazie.” He was deeply pleased by how much she not only appreciated his work, but how it seemed to breathe within her heart, too. She understood on a level like his own—that past and future were often inexplicably tied, and the bonds forged in the present. “Will you add your history to this place one day, or leave it to your children to show the world their papa’s romantic heart?” She tilted her head to one side as he joined her again. “Only time will answer that, Signorina,” he laughed. Before she could speak again, he touched her lip with the tip of his finger and shook his head. Her gaze curious, she followed him when he led her to a beautiful open area, with a gleaming, polished hardwood floor. He punched a few buttons on a wall console and seconds later music filled the air, soft and rhythmic. Bianca laughed quietly and walked into his arms. “You’re avoiding me with this distraction.” “I’m indulging myself,” he admitted with a smile. “Do 11

Denysé Bridger you mind?” She stared for a few moments then shook her head. “Why this song?” He didn’t answer, merely looked at her as the sultry music of Alta Marea, by Patrizio Buanne, filled the air and settled over them like a cloak. “This is the sexiest piece of music I’ve heard in years,” she whispered. “I love it.” “So do I.” As the seductive sound of the singer’s rich, smooth voice enveloped them, Stefano permitted himself the luxury of simply enjoying the moment he was in, and the feel of the beautiful woman in his arms as she nestled close and moved in perfect attunement with him. her

It was by chance and circumstance that I should meet Who would suspect I’d be infected by her fever

Bianca flowed into the smooth steps, once again caught in the magic that was dance, music, and Stefano’s presence. The mix was exhilarating, one that sent pulses of warmth and elation through her entire body. For a moment, she permitted her mind to examine how easily she’d fallen into his enchantment. He was a stranger to her, yet she felt more at ease, more complete, with him than she had with anyone in her life. In the short time they’d been together, she felt like she’d recognized his soul as a reflection of her own. Even the motion of their dance was effortless, their bodies moving like one, in perfect synch. She closed her eyes, breathed in his nearness, shuddering against him as the sensation of pleasure fanned outward. He pulled her tighter and she sighed, barely aware of the soft murmur of sound, then he kissed her temple and slowly stopped moving so that they stood, wrapped in each other’s arms. Silence gradually blanketed them, but she made no effort to step away, or to open her eyes and end the gentle perfection of the moment they’d become suspended within. “What are you thinking about?” His voice, next to her ear, rough with emotion, made 12

Bella Signorina her tremble. “Everything,” she finally forced the word into audible reality, then added, “nothing.” She felt his laughter, the sweet sound of it as it filled her mind, and the flow of motion as his chest expanded. “Why do I feel like I know you, Bianca?” She finally lifted her head and looked at him, instantly caught in the tide of his deep blue gaze. She wanted to say something, anything at all, but her voice refused to work. Stefano’s hands framed her face and he smiled before he lowered his mouth to cover hers. The sweet, sudden shock of contact was electric, and she gasped when the tip of his tongue traced the curve of her bottom lip, then slid into her mouth and coaxed hers into an erotic, sensual exploration. The sensation of growing warmth was endless, and Bianca let herself be swept into it. Her arms rose, wrapped around his neck and she melted into him, accepting the inevitability of what was happening. Part of her had been waiting for this moment from the instant she’d first seen him. Her entire body woke to his touch, and the slow drift of his hands as he learned her shape. Her mind stopped thinking and she allowed the sweet rushes of need evoked by his touch to become the only reality in her world. His name shuddered from her lips when he ended their kiss and his mouth sought the wildly beating pulse at her neck. The dizzying excitement took another erratic leap inside her. She thought she’d faint at the tidal wave of longing sweeping away the barriers she’d spent a lifetime building. He went suddenly still, and his hands dropped away. “This is happening too quickly.” She stumbled back and heard the rasp of denied passion in his voice, and stared, too dazed to form a coherent thought. Some inner voice was in complete accord. But the loss of his touch screamed louder in her brain at that moment. “Why did you bring me here?” She almost choked the words out, her voice sounding mildly strangled. “I wanted to make love to you.” “And now you don’t?” Her question shouldn’t have 13

Denysé Bridger been an accusation, but felt like one anyway. “Not like this.” His calm enraged her. She was so far from her own composure, the apparent evidence of his lack of turmoil was infuriating. Shaking violently, Bianca imposed more distance, walking several feet away. His misery was in his eyes as he watched her, and waited for her to say something that would ease the heavy tension between them now. She refused to give him the truce he wanted. “Buona notte.” The words were stiff and formal, her tone sharp. “Bianca…” Ignoring him, she swept aside his outstretched hand as she strode past him, desperate to escape the beautiful gallery that was a tribute to romance, as well as the stunning, handsome man who embodied it. When she was in the street, coat and bag in hand, she felt the first tears spill from her eyes. He wasn’t attempting to come after her. As the thought formed, she recognized her foolish heart’s hope that he would follow her. She took out her phone to call a taxi, pretending the sense of shattering like fine crystal wasn’t hovering heartbeats away. She’d examine that devastation when she was safely away from Stefano Esposito and his rejection. “You can’t leave like this, bella.” She hadn’t heard his approach, and whirled at the soft plea in his voice. “I can leave, Stefano, and I intend to,” she replied, grateful when the words came out steady and quiet, not a shriek, as they felt inside her. “Come back inside, Bianca. Please?” Pride wanted to make her refuse, but her more honest part knew she didn’t want the night to end like this, with so much confusion and anger between them, when there had been so much passion and understanding so short a time ago. More tears slipped from her eyes and trailed the contours of her cheeks. The expression on his face made her heart beat faster again when he stepped close and held her face between his hands, his thumbs brushing aside the moisture. “Please?” He whispered the word, dark eyes making the request a command. “I will not ask again, bella. Not even for you.” 14

Bella Signorina She knew as she stared that he wasn’t a man who chased any woman and begged. That he’d come after her was not to be taken lightly. “You said it yourself, Stefano, this wasn’t a good idea.” “No,” he shook his head “What I said was it was happening too fast,” he reminded her. “That’s very different.” “It means the same thing in the end,” she objected, wondering why she fought him when she didn’t even want to. Impatience flickered in his eyes and she thought for a moment that she’d pushed him too far. “Why? Because for you too fast is the same as rejection?” She winced at the cold annoyance in his voice. “No, that’s not what I meant.” “Then come back inside and listen.” His words sounded distinctly like a challenge, or a test, and she realized in that instant that if she somehow failed, she would not be seeing him again. Her reluctance to go with him made no sense—this was what she wanted. When she nodded, he drew her close, and his voice near her ear was soft when he whispered, “Thank you.” She let herself obey instinct over reason and slid her arms around his waist, absorbing the warm strength that was so much a part of him. She wanted the embrace to last forever, because in that moment she felt the complete peace she’d felt dancing with him in the gallery. Very slowly, still holding her tightly to his side, Stefano led her back to the entrance of the gallery. He kissed her temple and held the door until she was inside, then locked up and reset the alarm. “My apartment is upstairs, Bianca,” he told her. “Can we go there and talk over fresh coffee?” She didn’t trust her voice, and nodded, smiling when he reached for her hand and they headed toward the back of the gallery. He turned lights off as they walked, and she was given the chance to watch him without distraction. He moved with easy grace, and the elegance that was so much a part of him in the café was evident in every motion. Everything about him struck her with new clarity, the confidence in each tiny nuance of his manner 15

Denysé Bridger making her appreciate his presence on yet another level. The staircase hidden at the back of the gallery spiraled upward, and her breath caught when she stepped off the wrought iron case and into the living room of Stefano’s apartment. Like the handsome gallery owner, the moderately sized space was stylish with meticulous attention to every detail. She walked into the room, her gaze taking in the beauty of her surroundings. One wall was dominated by a stone fireplace, the centerpiece for a perfect, comfortable room, a place well used and tranquil. Dark wood, polished and shining like a dance floor, was the second thing that registered on her awareness. The furniture was antique for the most part, lovingly restored to perfection. She went to a large desk and ran her fingers along the edge. “It’s beautiful,” she said out loud, turning to look at him. “Did you restore the pieces yourself?” “Some of them,” he admitted, clearly pleased with her recognition of the age and value of the décor. “Others were restored by my father. It was his passion, apart from my mother, of course,” he added with a wink. “Feel free to look around, I’ll make coffee.” She wandered in silence, letting her hands touch the furniture in light caresses, drawing in the atmosphere as much as appreciating his fine taste. Dark, well-worn leather was the choice for sofa and chairs. Bookshelves told her he was an avid reader of many kinds of fiction and non-fiction, the topics as varied and wide-ranging as romantic poetry to computer studies. He was complex and diverse, and utterly fascinating on all levels. While the aroma of rich coffee brewing began to seep into the air, Bianca went back to the desk and picked up a photograph framed in ornate silver. Two lovely women smiled from it, one older and with the same refined features that made Stefano so striking. Something in her dark eyes told Bianca she would be a strong advocate for those she loved, and a formidable enemy to anyone who threatened them. The girl next to her was fair, her smile shy. “My mother, and my sister.” “They’re very beautiful,” Bianca said, returning the photo to the desk. 16

Bella Signorina “Grazie.” He smiled and put a silver tray on the coffee table, indicating she should join him. When she was seated in one of the comfortable armchairs, he sat on the sofa and went through the amenity of serving coffee. “Have you any family, Bianca?” “My grandfather,” she replied, then paused before adding with a sigh, “I have a brother as well, but seldom see him.” She accepted the delicate cup he handed her and sipped at the steaming brew. “This is delicious,” she said a moment later. For a short time, she peered intently. He accepted the scrutiny without comment. “You look so familiar,” she finally told him. “Why?” For the first time, he appeared uneasy. He shifted in his chair, then shrugged. “I’ve done some modeling work, and some acting. Perhaps that would account for it.” Bianca stared for a few moments, then laughed in spite of herself. “Why are you so uncomfortable admitting that?” “It’s caused some problems,” he evaded, his tone quiet. Her head tilted to one side and she considered his answer in contemplative silence. “You’ve had girlfriends who wanted to date the image, not the man.” He was startled again by the quick insight, her ability to see to the core of his uncharacteristic insecurity. “Are you surprised?” She smiled. “Men have been dating women for years based on the image they project. You seldom think about the impact that has on any person’s self-esteem until you experience it firsthand in your own life.” Stefano bowed his head in acquiescence to the truth. “How is it that you understand on such a deep level?” “I think too much about other people’s motivations,” she replied. “I’m able to see things from all sides, but usually the people I’m looking at don’t appreciate that kind of analysis.” He laughed. “I find your manner wonderfully honest. So, what do you do?” He grinned, flashing her a smile that made her heartbeat quicken before he finished, “besides dance like you were born in poetic motion.” 17

Denysé Bridger She leaned forward and put her coffee cup back on the serving tray, then kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her. The creak of the smooth leather of the chair was the only sound between them as he waited for her reply. She shrugged after a barely discernible hesitation. “Nothing exciting,” she confessed. “I work for a travel agency.” “You meet people all day,” he interjected. “How is it that someone so beautiful and smart is still alone?” “Haven’t we already had this discussion?” “We have,” he agreed. “But neither of us really answered the other’s enquiry.” “We want more than basic things, I think, you and I.” She smiled. “Our expectations make the people around us uncomfortable to know that they’re not able to be what we need. Is that a better answer?” “A more insightful one,” he laughed. “Insightful is often more truthful. You’re still waiting for a woman who can be all things to you, and know your heart like she knows her own.” She met his gaze without a flicker of uncertainty in her expression when she added, “A woman who respects your work, your spirit, your masculinity, and your arrogance, and loves you in spite of them, as well as because of them.” “A man who sees your wisdom, your strength, and your capacity to love. A man who trusts you to keep his heart safe, and to love him even in his weakness.” Her eyebrows rose and she sat back, eyes never leaving his handsome face. He was mesmerizing, and because the manner was so intrinsic to whom he was, it was as effortless as breathing. “Perhaps we want too much?” He laughed. “Perhaps others want too little?” “I’ve been told my standards are too high. Unrealistic, even,” she countered. He left his coffee on the table and settled back, his head tilted to one side as he watched her. As she spoke, no nuance of emotion was left unread. Despite his relaxed posture, energy and awareness emanated from him, as well as an unmistakable sense of contained excitement. When he responded to her statement, he kept his voice 18

Bella Signorina steady with real effort. “Better to know what will make you happy than settle for a life in which two people will be miserable.” “You have an answer for everything, don’t you, Signor Esposito?” “An answer,” he agreed and then added with a wink, “not always the right one, but an answer.” “Why did you pull away from me in the gallery?” Bianca was mortified the instant the question was between them. She hadn’t meant to speak about it, hadn’t even realized she’d been thinking about it, but he was being so open and forthright, the query had fallen from her lips artlessly. She was also honest enough not to pretend she wasn’t curious, part of her needed very much to know why. He hesitated, watching her closely for what felt like interminable minutes, but in reality was only seconds. Finally, he leaned forward, elbows on knees, and spoke very softly. “I was afraid.” Bianca had been afraid too, afraid of how intensely she’d wanted him. The intense emotion wasn’t something she was familiar with, and the reaction still surprised her when she allowed herself to consider how quickly it had swept over her. Not trusting her voice, she nodded. His eyes locked with hers and she had the uneasy feeling he looked right inside her, and that every thought and emotion he evoked was clearly visible. “We’re all afraid of things that make us feel too much too fast,” she suggested, when she was certain her voice wouldn’t shake with the words. “That’s what passion is all about.” The corner of his mouth quirked. She had the distinct impression she’d somehow said precisely what he wanted to hear. “And what inspires your passion, bella?” The sense of danger was returning. Bianca knew he waited to see if she’d be brave enough to continue being honest, despite her fears. She stood and walked to the window that overlooked the street where she’d almost run away from him earlier. She was suddenly thinking that her heart might have been safer had she kept going. “Passion can be a very deceiving emotion, Stefano,” 19

Denysé Bridger she said eventually. “A lot of people mistake it for love, and love for passion. They aren’t always one and the same, despite what poets, writers, and singers say to the contrary.” She didn’t dare look back as she spoke, and when his arms wrapped around her waist then pulled her back against his chest, she bit her lip to stop a murmur of surprised pleasure from escaping. “Sometimes,” he said, speaking into her ear, “passion is all you need it to be, complex or simple.” He lifted her hair from her neck and kissed the exposed curve with lingering purpose. Bianca couldn’t repress a shudder of reaction as her entire body woke with shocking speed. His touch was magical, the soft stroke of his tongue near her collarbone making her weak in the knees. He lifted his head, turned her in his arms, and then claimed her mouth in a kiss that demanded surrender. Her arms slid around him, stroking the length of his back as she pressed herself tighter, trembling as she opened her mouth to his. She’d been kissed many times but never like this, some part of her mind insisted, not with this arousing seduction in every tiny nuance of the caress. She tasted the hint of coffee still on his tongue, and the sweet, gentle glide of his lips on hers was more intoxicating than the finest wine. He drew back, held her head with his fingers entwined in the thickness of her hair, and his lips brushed over closed eyelids, her cheeks, her temple, then reclaimed her mouth as she gasped. He kissed her thoroughly again, a slow, sensuous caress that explored the recesses of her mouth and provoked her into a gratifying, exotic duel with his probing tongue. When he finally drew back for breath, she looked up into his blazing blue eyes, seeing a fire there that equaled the searing need raging through her veins. “Are you going to push me away again, Stefano?” She tried, but the words were shaken and textured with fear. “I don’t think I could stand that.” “I want you, bella,” he assured her. “Very much. And we are going to make love, properly,” he whispered, his mouth still so close she felt his words as much as she 20

Bella Signorina heard them. She wasn’t sure she could utter a word without stammering, and merely nodded He took her by the hand and they settled in front of the beautiful fireplace. She watched him go through the motions of building the fire, enjoying the pleasure of staring at his hands as he worked, and the graceful movement of his muscles. When he sat in front of her and smiled, that dazzling expression that reached right inside her, she chewed her bottom lip. “An hour ago, this was too fast,” she whispered. “It still is.” Stefano moved toward her and drew her close, and she made no effort to resist him when he lowered her to the thickly cushioned rug in front of the fireplace. The crackle of the blaze drowned the pounding of her heartbeat, and his stunning features were suddenly tinted with gold reflecting from the dancing flames. He touched her lips with the tip of his tongue and a tiny flutter of air rushed from her at the light caress. The second time he licked at her quivering bottom lip, then covered her mouth with his, deepening the kiss into a promise as he pressed more intimately to her. The world spun crazily, even behind her closed lids, and Bianca had a fleeting moment of sanity that warned her to stop his kisses from robbing her of all sense of control. When his tongue coaxed hers into a slow, tantalizing, stroking dance, she shuddered with a simple rapture that she wanted to drown in. Her hands drifted over the broad expanse of his back, exploring, drawing in the sensation of muscle moving smoothly under the thin layer of his shirt. His hands were as persuasive as his mouth, and she was aching in places she’d seldom been aware of before as he traced the curve of her waist, then his fingers were moving upward and she wondered if she’d faint in his arms if he touched her bare skin. Stefano’s mouth moved to her neck, his bewitching tongue gliding over her skin until he stopped and began to stroke the sensitive hollow near her collarbone. Bianca’s fingers slid into the thick silk of his hair and she hardly recognized the tiny, strangled whimper that came from her. She arched beneath him and one leg 21

Denysé Bridger tangled around his as her hips pressed upward, seeking more intimate contact. If they continued, they were treading a dangerous path, but she didn’t want to deny what she’d wanted from the moment she’d first seen him. She silenced her doubts, and ignored the voice in her head warning her to stop what was happening. He covered her lips, drawing her into another breathstealing kiss that felt like it went on forever. Every nerve ending in her body was alive with awareness, the weight of him in her arms, the heat of the fire beside them and within them. She was so enraptured by her senses that several seconds passed before she realized he was, once again, pulling back. She felt the withdrawal in her heart moments before he actually moved physically. Unable to shape any sound that wasn’t a sob, Bianca watched in combined anger and disbelief as Stefano slid away and sat up, not meeting her gaze as he fought to breathe evenly. “Why?” He winced at the gasped word that sounded more like an indictment than a question. She climbed to her feet, cursing softly when she almost fell, her normal grace and poise completely destroyed by the tempest that raged within. When his fingers touched the back of her neck, she flinched away and whirled. “Don’t touch me!” She saw the effect her wrath had on him, the regret that flickered in his sapphire eyes. If she’d slapped his face she’d have hurt him less. The knowledge made her angrier. That she cared at all made her want to strike out more. She turned away, not trusting herself to stay angry if she had to continue looking at how hurt he was by her fury. If she had been the one to pull away… She cut off the thought and headed back for the staircase. The sound of his footsteps told her he followed, and when she’d grabbed her coat, he had the door open and was waiting. “Bianca?” She stopped, and finally looked up at the misery in his eyes. Her heart wanted to comfort him, but she refused to let it surface. Agony ripped into her spirit when she finally spoke words she knew she’d hate herself for 22

Bella Signorina later. “I don’t want to see you again, Stefano.” The words came, spat out in humiliated self-loathing as she shook with the effort of denying how much she truly did want him. “I don’t want to talk to you, either.” For just an instant, something dark and dangerous flickered in his eyes, and a flutter of fear rippled her composure further. The emotion was gone in the next erratic beat of her heart. When he nodded, his eyes holding hers, his expression was guarded, revealing nothing. She waited another moment then turned away. The warm summer night enveloped her, and darkness descended on her heart… **** The drive along the tiered cliffs of Amalfi seemed interminable to Stefano as his mind replayed over and over again the vision of Bianca Marino storming out of his gallery. He’d wanted to chase after her and plead with her to come back, to listen. Pride and a genuine confusion about what he even wanted to say had kept him frozen in the doorway, staring long after she was gone from his sight. The sides of the cliffs were alive with lemon trees blossoming, their fragrant blooms enriching the air with an irresistible scent and spectacular beauty. His grandmother, Agata Beroti, owned one of the finest lemon groves in the province of Salerno, the fruit highly prized by makers of the liqueur limoncello. Most times he visited, they spent much of their time walking among the trees, discussing the harvest and what might be done to improve on the already superb quality of the lemons. Today, as he reached the gates that would take him to his grandmother’s modest villa, he was restless and agitated, and his mood tenuous. He hadn’t slept much, and the decision to make the trip to Amalfi had been an impulsive one. Hours later, he was beginning to think he’d have been better served to simply take his cameras and immerse himself in his work. The brilliant sunshine was even giving him a rare headache. He slowed the shining Ferrari to a halt, cut the engine, and climbed out as his grandmother’s housekeeper appeared at the double doors of the villa. 23

Denysé Bridger She’d been with Agata for as long as Stefano had been alive, longer, and she was frowning as he approached, taking the stairs two at a time. “Speranza,” he greeted her with a kiss to her aged cheek. “Where is mia nonna?” “On that back terrace,” she replied, suspicion in every syllable. “Why have you arrived unannounced, Stefano?” “I merely wished to speak with my grandmother,” he said with mild censure. “Will that be permissible, Speranza?” She gave him a stern look but refrained from further comment. “This way, signore,” she said, letting her opinion echo in the simple “sir” and turning it into amazingly effective disapproval. “I know the way, Speranza,” he said, summoning up his most charming smile to soothe her ruffled feathers. “Please, forgive my terrible manners?” She made no reply, but his smile grew as she relented and finally turned away and left him in the arched entrance, so he might find his way to the shaded terrace at the back of the house. “What brings you here so unexpectedly, Stefano?” He kissed his grandmother’s cheek and sat at the glass patio table, in the chair opposite hers. She poured iced cappuccino and proffered the cup to him. He sipped at it for a few moments, savoring the chill on his throat. She watched him, measuring every nuance of his expression as she evaluated his sudden appearance at the villa. “I believe you’ve fallen in love at last,” she murmured in surprise. Shocked at her shrewd perception, Stefano gaped, his astonishment in no way feigned. Agata laughed quietly and reached over to pat his hand, her great affection for him in her smile, the gesture, and the sharp brown eyes that never let up on their appraisal. Agata Beroti was still a very beautiful woman, tall, straight, her silvery hair fashioned into a perfect coil atop her regal head. Her tanned skin was lined, but her eyes were alive with intelligence and vibrant life. Despite his tremendous love for his mother, he’d always sought out 24

Bella Signorina this strong, determined woman when in turmoil over his life. Stefano leaned back in his chair and sighed, both amused and embarrassed. “Don’t look so mortified, Stefano,” Agata admonished with humor. “If she has you in such a state, be assured you have disturbed her equally.” She picked up her cup and nodded. “Now, tell me about her.” **** Bianca forced the smile onto her face, despite feeling like much more pressure would create cracks in her physical features. She’d been making herself focus on her work, mindlessly preparing the paperwork for other people’s vacations, enthusiastically bubbling with them as they told her about their excitement. All the while feeling like the light in her world had been permanently extinguished. Three days had passed since she’d run away from the La Galleria d’arte di Idillio, making a complete fool of herself over Stefano Esposito. Within a short time, reason pointed out her foolish behavior, and she had spent many hours since beating herself up for the idiocy of her actions. “Bianca!” For the third time in the past hour, her supervisor’s voice cut into her daze. She offered him an automatic apology. He rolled his eyes and beckoned the couple at her desk to follow him. They passed him to go into his office then he leaned over so that his voice wouldn’t be overheard. “Go home, Bianca,” he suggested. “You’re of no use to anyone with your head in the clouds.” She bit back a retort and gathered up her bag and her jacket. Within ten minutes, she was out in the beautiful summer sunshine, headed for a nearby café where she could relax and think without interruption. Wallow in her misery, an inner voice taunted, and she didn’t even pretend it wasn’t true. In the short time that she’d known him, a single night, she’d forged a bond with him unlike any she’d ever experienced with another man. As though every thought she had, every feeling she possessed, was so attuned to him he knew it before she was aware of it within her own 25

Denysé Bridger mind. They’d spoken about things that were generally not discussed, and the passion he’d aroused, both physical and emotional, stole her breath each time she allowed herself to remember it. To relive it in her heart. She finished her iced tea, and left the café after stopping to chat with the owner. In spite of intentions to avoid it, she soon found herself in front of Stefano’s gallery. A small, neatly printed card stated, “Closed for the day,” and she tried not to cry as tears welled up and stung her eyes. Cursing herself for a fool, she walked away, telling herself to forget him, as he’d obviously forgotten her. And I said Bella Bella Signorina, I’m no Casanova But I’m Italian through and though, so let me show you what we do For almost a week, Bianca resisted the need to go to the Café Rosati. In that time, she went through the motions of her life, smiled little, and thought endlessly about Stefano. He’d become part of her, buried in her heart and mind like he’d been there forever, she’d simply not had a name for him before. On Friday evening, she abandoned the pretense of denying her desire to see him and took great pains when getting ready to go to the café. She chose a scarlet dress, trimmed with glittering sequins and hand-woven lace. The style accentuated the sleek lines of her body and floated around her like a cloud when she moved. When the hour grew late, hope began to desert her. She hadn’t danced, though many old partners had tried to change her mind. Now, disheartened, she was preparing to leave, gathering her purse and her wrap while she tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes. “Signorina?” Bianca looked at the waitress who’d spoken, and her eyebrows lifted when the pretty girl handed her a single red rose. “Who is this from?” In the background, suddenly hushed, the entrancing music of a familiar song reached outward and as the first line of Alta Marea filled the café, she turned. For a 26

Bella Signorina timeless moment, she stared, a kiss of ice and fire combined touching the back of her neck. Stefano’s dazzling blue eyes snared hers and she waited for him to close the last few feet of distance that separated them. He swept her into the dance. She stared, unable to take in anything other than his presence, and the happiness that made her suddenly giddy. “Am I forgiven?” Tears stung her eyes when the words were whispered into her ear. She nodded and turned her face into his neck as he lifted her off her feet and whirled. The applause was distant and she clung like he was a dream that might vanish if she didn’t hold onto him. “Let’s dance…” She heard the laughter in his tone and stepped back to smile up at him, struck almost breathless again by his sheer presence. Had he possibly gotten even more handsome in the week she’d not seen him? The evening ended much more quickly than it had begun, and she was still walking on air when they left the café and strolled the streets hand in hand. As they had the last time they’d met, they ended up on the ancient steps. “Where have you been?” She didn’t want to ask, to reveal that she’d missed him, but in the short time they’d known each other, she knew being less than honest would be lying to them both. “I went to Amalfi to see my grandmother,” he told her. “I went to the gallery,” she confessed. “Twice.” “No one told me you’d been there.” “I didn’t leave a message.” “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” She smiled, the expression self-deprecating. “Why would you assume I’d go back? I did tell you I didn’t want to see you or speak to you again.” His grin was so smug she laughed in spite of herself. “I knew you did not mean that,” he replied, eyes sparkling with humor. “Oh, I meant it,” she assured him. “Very much. At the time.” 27

Denysé Bridger “And now?” “Now?” She stepped into his arms. “I have just spent the loneliest week of my life, Signor Esposito. I have no lies left to tell you or myself. I don’t want to spend another day without you, Stefano.” “We have a lot to talk about, you and I,” he said, holding her close, kissing the top of her head where it rested under his chin. “What happened?” The question might have been vague, but she knew he understood it, and she waited for him to give her the answer she needed. “What is between us is something very strong, amato, and very special.” He drew her head from his shoulder and held it so their eyes met. “I was afraid, Bianca. Afraid if we acted too quickly, we would somehow destroy what’s between us, not make it whole.” She’d known that almost immediately after she’d walked away, but had been too proud to go back and tell him. The look in his eyes had haunted her from the moment she’d turned her back. “You must understand, il mio amore?” His hand was at his chest, over his heart, emphasizing how deeply he needed her to know and accept his assurance. “I do,” she replied. “I did that night. I was just being stupid.” He shook his head. “Stubborn, perhaps,” he revised. “But never stupid, il più caro.” He kissed her, a light, gentle caress, filled with love, and no small amount of relief. Then he drew her close again. She listened to his heart beating, and let serenity engulf her. “I want us to be very sure, of ourselves and each other,” Stefano said. “My heart tells me our love will be that important, and I don’t want to make a mistake, Bianca. I want things to be as they should be for us.” “We have all the time in the world, il mio Stefano caro.” She lifted her head to look at him again. “Provided you don’t leave me for a week and not tell me where you are going. Or why?” she added with a thoughtful frown. “I told you, I went to see mia nonna,” he answered. “She wants to meet you.” 28

Bella Signorina “You told your grandmother about me?” She was surprised, and a little uneasy. What would his beloved grandmother think of her? Before she could ponder the possibilities, he continued. “Certainly. You are why I wished to speak with her.” “Have you set a date for this trip?” He grinned. “Well, you’re the travel agent, I thought you might wish to plan the trip.” “Fine. When?” “How about in a week?” She rolled her eyes and sighed. “You’ve already got this worked out, haven’t you?” “Not all of it.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Have you been to Amalfi before?” “Not for many years.” “Then we’ll make it a trip of many discoveries,” he told her with a kiss to her forehead. “There is so much for you to see again. With me.” “And your grandmother?” “Will understand.” He dismissed the issue as any kind of potential problem that his beloved grandmother would not be pleased to have him visit and not spend time with her. Bianca wasn’t as certain. “I would be honored to meet your family, Stefano,” she said with complete sincerity. “But shouldn’t we wait a little while?” “For how long?” He countered with a hint of annoyance in his tone. “Until we are sure of our feelings? I am sure now, il mio amore. I have rarely in my life been so certain of anything.” She gazed at him, seeing the determined set of his chin, appreciating again the perfect contours of his features as well as the strength and confidence in his presence. He was a man used to getting what he wanted. He was arrogant, while being charming and boyish. He was also filled with a passion for life that she had rarely seen in anyone. She adored him already. “What are you thinking about?” She smiled. “Forever…” He considered it for a moment then nodded as he bent to kiss her. In the instant before his lips touched hers, she felt 29

Denysé Bridger the rush of his breath as he murmured, “Forever begins tonight…” I raised my arms and shouted out la dolce vita! Then once again, she took my hand and said let’s dance…

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