What he couldn't seem to control were his own questions about Margaret. An accident, suicide or murder? None of the options was appealing. He eliminated suicide. She hadn't been the type, and he sure as hell didn't have the towering ego that suggested she'd killed herself in despair because he'd broken a dinner date.
Maybe she had been interested in him, and maybe he'd ignored the signals because he hadn't felt the same way. And hadn't wanted the complications. Life was complicated enough without tangling up business and personal relationships.
Plus, she just hadn't been his type.
He didn't go for the fast-track career woman with attitude and an agenda. That kind of woman just took too much energy.
Take Sophia.
Christ, he was beginning to think he'd explode if he didn't take Sophia. And wasn't that the point? he reminded himself as he roamed restlessly downstairs again. Thinking about her that way muddled up the mind, strained the body and complicated an already complex business association.
Now more than ever it was essential he keep his mind on his job. The current crisis was going to pull his time and energy away from the vineyards when he could least afford it. Long-range forecasts warned him that frost vigils would be necessary. Several casks of wine were on the point of being ready for bottling. Disking had already started.
He didn't have time to worry about police investigations, potential lawsuits. Or a woman. And of all of them, he was finding the woman the hardest to shove out of his mind.
Because she'd invaded his system, he thought. And she'd be stuck there, irritating him, until he got her out again. So why didn't he just march over to the villa, storm up her terrace steps and deal with it. Finish it.
He knew exactly how pathetic and self-serving that was as rationalization. And decided he didn't give a damn.
He grabbed a jacket, strode to the front door and yanked it open.
And there she was, stalking up his steps.
"I don't like irritable, macho men," she told him as she slammed the door at her back.
"I don't like bossy, aggressive women."
They dove at each other. Even as their mouths began a mutual assault she boosted herself up, wrapped her legs around his hips. "I want a bed this time." Her breath already tattered, she tugged at his shirt. "We'll try out the floor later."
"I want you naked." He nipped his teeth into her throat and began to stagger up the steps. "I don't care where."
"God, you have this incredible taste." She raced her lips over his face, his neck. "It's so basic." Her breath caught when he rapped her back against the wall at the top of the steps. Her fingers fisted in his hair. "This is just sex, right?"
"Yeah, right, whatever." His mouth crushed down on hers. Using the wall to brace her, he began dragging her sweater over her head. "God. You're so built." He tossed her sweater aside, took his mouth over the soft swell of breast that rose above her bra. "We're not going to make the bed."
Her heart hammered as he used his teeth on her. "Okay. Next time."
Her feet hit the floor. At least she thought they did. It was hard to know where she was, who she was with as the geyser of greed erupted inside her. Hands were pulling at clothes; something ripped. Mouths ran hot over flesh. Everything blurred. Over the wild beat of blood she could hear her own whimpers, pleas, demands, a kind of mad chant that merged with his.
She was already wet, already aching when his fingers found her. The violent glory of the orgasm ripped through her, molten gold release, so strong, so welcome she might have melted bonelessly to the floor.
"Uh-uh. No you don't." He pressed her back against the wall and, riding on her thrill, continued to drive her. "I want you screaming. Go up again."
She couldn't have stopped herself. Welcoming the burn, craving it, she let him take, empty her out until her mind was filled with the dark and the feral.
And filled, she tore at him, whipped him past reason. She watched his eyes go opaque and knew it was she who blinded him. Heard his breath heave and tear, and thrilled that she could weaken him.
"Now." Once more she anchored her hands in his hair and shuddered, shuddered as she poised on the next thin edge. "Now, now, now."
When he plunged into her, she came again. Brutally. Her nails dug into the sweat-slicked slope of his shoulders as her hips pistoned. Lightning-fast. With his mouth fused to hers, he swallowed the small, greedy sounds she made. Fed on them as he hitched her up to give more. Take more.
Pleasure careened through him, left him shattered, stupefied.
He managed to hold on to her as both of them slid to the floor.
Sprawled over him, her heart still racing, Sophia began to laugh. "Dio. Grazie a Dio. Decanted at last. No real finesse, but a fine body and excellent staying power."
"We'll work on finesse when I'm not ready to howl at the moon."
"Wasn't complaining." To prove it, she brushed her lips lightly over his chest. "I feel fabulous. At least I think I do."
"I can verify that. You feel incredible." He blew out a breath. "I'm winded."
"That makes two of us." She lifted her head, studied his face. "Are you finished?"
"Not hardly."
"Oh, good, because neither am I." She shifted, straddled him. 'Ty?"
"Mmmm." His hands were already stroking up her torso. She was so smooth, he thought. Smooth, dusky, exotic.
"We probably need to set guidelines."
"Yeah." She had a pretty little mole on the curve of her left hip. A kind of sexual punctuation.
"You want to get into that now?"
"No."
"Good. Me either." She braced her hands on either side of his head, leaned down. She brushed her lips at the corners of his mouth, teasing little sips. "Bed?" she whispered.
He reared up, wrapped his arms around her. "Next time."
Sometime around midnight, she found herself facedown on his bed. The sheets were tangled and hot, and her bones were limp as water.
Even after so long a sexual drought it was hard for her to believe the human body could recharge as often, and at such intense power.
"Water," she croaked, afraid now that she'd satisfied one craving, thirst would kill her. "I need water. I'll give you anything—wild, sexual favors—if you'll just give me a bottle of water."
"You've already paid out the wild, sexual favors."
"Oh, right." She groped over, patted his shoulder blindly. "Be a pal, MacMillan."
"Okay, but where are we?"
"On the bed." She sighed gustily. "We finally made it."
"Right. Be right back." He staggered up, and since he'd been crossways on the bed, misjudged direction and rapped smartly into a chair.
Listening to his muttered curses, Sophia smiled into the sheet. God, he was cute. Funny. Smarter than she'd given him credit for. And incredible in bed. On the floor. Against the wall. She couldn't remember any man appealing to her on so many levels. Especially when you considered he was the type who had to be held at gunpoint to put on a suit and tie.
Which was, she supposed, why he always looked so sexy in them. The caveman temporarily civilized.
Lost for the moment in that thought, she yelped when Ty held the iced water to her bare shoulder. "Ha ha," she muttered, but was grateful enough to roll over, sit up and gulp down half the glass.
"Hey. I figured you'd share."
"I didn't say anything about sharing."
"Then I want more sexual favors."
"You couldn't possibly." She chuckled.
"You know how much I like proving you wrong."
She sighed as his hand snuck up her thigh. "That's true." Still she handed him the rest of the water. "I might have a few sexual favors left in me. But then I really have to go home. Early briefing tomorrow."
He drained the glass, set it aside. "We're not thinking about that now." He hooked an arm around her waist, then rolled until she was under him. "Let me tell you just what I have in mind."
It had been, Sophia mused, a very
long time since she'd snuck into the house at two in the morning. Still, it was one of those skills, like riding a bike or, well, sex, that came back to you. She dimmed her headlights before they flashed against the windows of the villa and eased the car gently, slowly around the bend and into the garage.
She crept out into the chilly night and stood just a moment under the brilliant wheel of stars. She felt outrageously tired, wonderfully used, and alive.
Tyler MacMillan, she decided, was a man just full of surprises, of secret pockets and marvelous, marvelous energy. She'd learned a great deal about him in the past few months. Aspects and angles she hadn't bothered to explore. And she was looking forward to continuing that exploration.
But for now, she'd better get in the house and get some sleep or she'd be useless the next day.
Odd, she thought as she walked quietly around the back, she'd wanted to stay with him. Sleep with him. All curled up against that long, warm body. Safe, cozy, secure.
She'd trained herself over the years to click off emotionally after sex. A man's way, she liked to think. Sleeping, and waking, in the same bed after the fun and games were over could be awkward. It could be intimate. Avoiding that, making certain she didn't need that, kept things from getting messy.
But she'd had to order herself to leave Tyler's bed. Because she was tired, she assured herself. Because it had been a difficult day. He wasn't really any different from anyone else she'd been with.
Perhaps she liked him more, she considered as she navigated through the shrubbery. And was more attracted to him than she'd expected to be. That didn't make him different. Just… new. After a while the polish would wear off the shiny excitement, and that would be that.
That, she thought, was always that.
If you looked for love and lifetimes, you were doomed to disappoint, or be disappointed. Better, much better, to seize the moment, wring it dry, then move on.
Because thinking was dulling her mood, she blocked out the questions. And rounding the last bend in the gardens, came face-to-face with her mother.
They stared at each other, the surprised breath each puffed out frosting into little clouds.
"Um. Nice night," Sophia commented.
"Yes. Very. I was just, ah… David…" Stumped, Pilar gestured vaguely toward the guest house. "He needed help with some translating."
"I see." A wild giggle tried to claw its way out of Sophia's throat. "Is that what your generation calls it?" A small choking sound escaped. "If we're going to sneak the rest of the way in, let's do it. We could freeze out here trying to come up with reasonable excuses."
"I was translating." Pilar hurried to the door, fumbled with the knob. "There was a lot of—"
"Oh, Mama." The laughter won. Sophia clutched her belly and stumbled inside. "Stop bragging."
"I was merely…" Floundering, Pilar pushed at her hair. She had a very good idea how she looked—tumbled and flushed. Like a woman who'd just slid out of bed. Or in this case, off the living room sofa. Taking the offensive seemed to be the safest course. "You're out late."
"Yeah. I was translating. With Ty."
"With… Oh. Oh."
"I'm starving, how about you?" Enjoying herself, Sophia pulled open the refrigerator. "I never got around to dinner." She spoke casually, with her head in the fridge. "Do you have a problem with me and Ty?"
"No—yes. No," Pilar stuttered. "I don't know. I absolutely don't know how I'm supposed to handle this."
"Let's have pie."
"Pie."
Sophia pulled out what was left of a deep-dish apple. "You look wonderful, Mama."
Pilar brushed at her hair again. "I couldn't possibly."
"Wonderful." Sophia set the dish on the counter and reached up for plates. "I had a few emotional bumps about you and David. I wasn't used to seeing you as—to seeing you, I suppose. But when I run into you sneaking into the house in the middle of the night, looking wonderful, I can't help but see you."
"I don't have to sneak into my own house."
"Oh." Wielding a pie cutter, Sophia asked, "Then why were you?"
"I was just… Let's have pie."
"Good call." Sophia cut two huge hunks, then smiled when Pilar stroked her hair. She leaned in, and for a moment the two of them stood in the bright kitchen light in silence. "It was a long, lousy day. It's nice to end it well."
"Yes. Though you gave me a hell of a shock outside."
"Me? Imagine my surprise, reliving my teenage years, then running into my mother."
"Reliving? Really?" Sophia carried the plates to the kitchen table while Pilar got forks.
"Oh well, why dwell on the past?" Grinning wickedly, Sophia licked pie from her thumb. "David's very hot."
"Sophie."
"Very hot. Great shoulders, that charmingly boyish face, that intelligent brain. Quite a package you've bagged there, Mama."
"He's not a trophy. And I certainly hope you don't think of Ty as one."
"He's got a terrific butt."
"I know."
"I meant Ty."
"I know," Pilar repeated. "What, am I blind?" With an unladylike snort, she plopped into a chair. "This is ridiculous, it's rude and it's—"
"Fun," Sophia finished and sat down to scoop up some pie. "We share an interest in fashion, and more recently in the business. Why shouldn't we share an interest in… Nonna."
"Well, of course we share an interest in…" Pilar dropped her fork with a clatter as she followed the direction of Sophia's blank stare. "Mama. What are you doing up?"
"You think I don't know when people come and go in my house?" Somehow elegant in a thick chenille robe and slippers, Tereza swept into the room. "What, no wine?"
"We were just… hungry," Sophia managed.
"Ha. No wonder. Sex is a laborious business if done properly. I'm hungry myself."
Sophia slapped a hand to her mouth, but it was too late. The burst of laughter erupted. "Go, Eli."
Tereza merely took the last piece of pie as her daughter stared down at her plate, shoulders shaking. "We'll have wine. I believe the occasion calls for it. I think this is surely the first time all three generations of Giambelli women have sat together in the kitchen after making love. You needn't look so stunned, Pilar. Sex is a natural function, after all. And since you've chosen a worthy partner this time, we'll have wine."
She chose a bottle of sauvignon blanc from the kitchen rack and uncorked it. "These are trying times. There have been others, and there will be more." She poured three glasses. "It's essential that we live while we move through them. I approve of David Cutter, if my approval matters."
"Thank you. It does, of course."
Sophia was biting her lip to hide a grin when Tereza turned toward her. "If you hurt Tyler, I'll be both angry and disappointed in you. I love him very much."
"Well, I like that." Deflated, Sophia set her fork down. "Why would I?"
"Remember what I said. Tomorrow, we'll fight for what we are, what we have. Tonight." She lifted her glass. "Tonight, we celebrate it. Salute."