She sucked in her breath. “No. That would be a lie. When you kissed me …” She swallowed, then tried to keep her voice even as she said, “You kiss very well. Of course you do. You’re famous for it.”
He blinked at her cool tone.
“But being close to you impairs my judgment,” she said. “It impairs my ability to do my job with clear eyes. And like I said … my work is what matters.”
“But, Annabelle, surely.” He reached to take her hand, but she pulled it away, folding her hands tightly in her lap.
He stared down at her, his eyes dark.
“Do not pursue me,” she said. “Please. Let me finish the job I came here to do.” In spite of her best efforts, her voice trembled and broke as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “If you have any mercy in your heart,” she whispered, “leave me alone.”
CHAPTER SIX
STEFANO RUBBED HIS HAIR with a towel as he got out of the shower. Lathering his face in front of the mirror, he shaved with a straight razor. He froze at the sight of his haggard face.
He’d had three days of staying away from Annabelle now. Three days of leaving her alone. Three days of telling himself it was all for the best.
Three days of hell.
Setting his jaw, he toweled off the rest of his body and left the en suite bathroom, padding naked across his bedroom to the closet. He was still furious with himself.
He should have known better than to kiss her in the forest. He’d tamed enough horses to know that rushing Annabelle into a kiss, after she’d just run away from him in blind fear, was a mistake.
And yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself. What a kiss. When she’d kissed him back with her trembling heart-shaped mouth, it had been heaven. He’d very nearly ripped off her clothes right then and there in the forest, and taken her against the rocks. Against a tree. In the water. Anywhere.
Annabelle’s kiss had been so raw, so un-practiced, so real. She’d clearly taken very few lovers in her life, a chosen, sacred few. He’d felt it when he’d kissed her, in her shaking lips as they separated beneath the force of his caress. She did not surrender herself lightly. He’d felt her shock, her hesitation. Then, like a miracle, he’d felt her fire.
A man would die for a kiss like that.
Stefano should have felt privileged beyond imagination. Instead, he greedily wanted more. Hungered for it. Thirsted.
If once he’d been intrigued by her, now he was obsessed.
But Annabelle’s face had been so wan as she lay stretched out on the bed, her injured ankle extended and wrapped in ice. She’d looked up at him, her expression heartbroken as she’d whispered, “If you have any mercy in your heart, leave me alone.”
He’d sucked in his breath at the pain in her eyes.
“Is that truly what you wish?” he’d replied.
She lifted her chin fiercely, her gray eyes glittering with tears like melted ice.
“It is.”
“Then I give you my word,” he’d said in a low voice.
And he’d left her, when all he’d wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss away the gleaming tears he’d seen in her eyes. It had been the first moment of hell, and since then, it had only gotten worse.
For three days, he’d had only glimpses of Annabelle as she photographed the ranch. He’d seen her laughing with the boys in the dining hall, even chatting with the elderly housekeeper about her grandchildren in the nearby village.
Annabelle Wolfe, an ice queen? He gave a single hard laugh. She was charming and warm with everyone. Everyone, except him. When she passed Stefano in the hall, if she met him in the stables, her eyes seemed to glaze over as if she saw right through him. He’d become invisible to the woman he wanted most on earth.
Now, setting his jaw, Stefano pulled a clean T-shirt and jeans from his wardrobe. Sitting on his bed, he put on his black work boots. Then he paused, staring blindly across his masculine, Spartan bedroom.
For three days now, he’d tried to convince himself it was better this way—better for her, better even for him. He shouldn’t risk getting more involved with a woman who cried out with nightmares she wouldn’t explain, a woman so powerful on the outside but so fragile inside.
He’d already slept an entire night at her side. He’d put her needs ahead of his own. Shocking. He’d never wanted a weighty affair. All he’d wanted with Annabelle Wolfe was a pleasant challenge and bit of fun. This was getting too serious. He should let her go.
But his body wouldn’t listen. He wanted her.
Gripping his hands into fists, Stefano rose to his feet. Going downstairs, he went to the dining hall for breakfast.
He found the plump, gray-haired housekeeper, Mrs. Gutierrez, setting down bowls of freshly baked rolls on the long table. All the young stablehands bounced around her, noisy in their hungry eagerness. The teenagers, as usual, stacked food on their plates perilously high as they cheerfully wished him buenos días. Stefano growled out a reply and went straight to his usual chair, where he poured himself some black coffee. He drank deeply of the hot, bitter brew, burning his tongue.
“Good morning,” he heard Annabelle’s sweet voice say. Stefano put down his cup on the table and looked up.
The sight of her took his breath away.
She was sleek and professional as always, wearing a pantsuit in creamy ivory and glossy black shoes beneath. Her blond hair was pulled back in her usual tight chignon. Small gold hoops gleamed in her ears and she carried a black leather case.
But the ivory of her suit was nothing compared to the creamy color of her skin. The gold of her earrings was dull compared to the lustrous blond gleam of her hair. Her bare lips were naturally pink and full, her big gray eyes fringed with light blond lashes. And it was all Stefano could do not to fall to his knees before such beauty.
Annabelle froze when she saw him. Then her soft gray gaze became inscrutable. She turned away.
He wondered what she was thinking. If the past three days had been as difficult for her as they’d been for him. Usually women fell over themselves to share their thoughts. But Annabelle didn’t say a word.
The young stablehands saw her and rose to their feet to greet her, clustering around as they asked about her welfare in Spanish and accented English.
“Señorita, good morning!”
“Miss Wolfe, did you bring the pictures?”
“You fool, don’t ask her yet. Let her sit down first!”
Annabelle gave a laugh like the ripple of cool water in a mountain stream. “Yes. I brought the photos. Just let me have a bit of breakfast and I’ll be glad to show you.”
The boys cheered, then escorted Annabelle to her seat on the other end of the long table. Stefano tightened his hands on his coffee cup, willing himself into self-control.
At any other time, he would have been proud of the teenagers for showing such good manners, falling over themselves to make a guest comfortable. But as he saw the delighted, warm smile that Annabelle bestowed upon them, something like a growl rose to the back of his throat.
Stefano wanted to be the recipient of that smile.
He wanted Annabelle to look at him like that.
It was a strange feeling for him to be ignored by the woman he wanted most. Mrs. Gutierrez, smiling, brought her a plate and she calmly served herself. Stefano watched Annabelle eat pastries, cooked eggs and ham with gusto while he drank only black coffee, feeling surly. He saw her smile and laugh as the boys entertained her with jokes, tossing rolls at one another. As usual, the teenagers were rowdy and full of laughter as they gobbled down their food and drank gallons of milk.
Beneath the dining hall’s high ceilings of vaulted wood, Annabelle sat in her tall wooden chair at the end of the table, holding court like a princess, laughing at the boys’ antics. And Stefano suddenly wondered why, at almost thirty-four, she had no children of her own. She would make a wonderful mother. Why had she never settled down and started a family?
Because she couldn’t commit? Because she was a
workaholic? Because she was constantly on the road and didn’t need, or want, a real home?
All good reasons, he thought. All bad reasons.
Annabelle finally finished the last of her tea.
“Now?” the boys demanded.
She smiled. “Clear the table.”
The long wooden table was clean in seconds. As the boys clamored around her, even Mrs. Gutierrez came over to see what all the commotion was about. Annabelle reached into the black leather case at her feet and withdrew a stack of colorful printed images.
“Here’s a sampling of the pictures I’ve taken so far. Just preliminary pictures off my travel printer,” she warned. “The final versions will be far better.”
She placed the stack on the table, and the boys snatched them up. Immediately, they started exclaiming with praise over the beauty of the photographs she’d taken of Santo Castillo.
“You are truly a wonder, señorita.”
“Sí—you even made Juan look less ugly in this one!” another boy snickered, only to be punched in the shoulder by the first boy.
“My goodness, these are beautiful,” Mrs. Gutierrez cooed. “The prettiest pictures I’ve ever seen.” The housekeeper looked over at Stefano. “Don’t you think so, señor?”
Annabelle’s gaze met Stefano’s across the table, and he heard her intake of breath. The smile on her face fled.
Setting his jaw, Stefano walked toward her. Reaching for the papers, he looked through the images. He saw Santo Castillo’s landscapes, the golden fields around the hacienda, the dappled forest, the horses in the stables, even the boys working. He saw Mrs. Gutierrez cooking in the modern kitchen as she made a meal for seven hungry men.
Technically, the pictures were all perfect.
And yet … they didn’t move him. Something was missing. Something like passion. Like life.
“Well?” He looked up to see Annabelle biting her lip. “What do you think?”
It was the first time she’d spoken directly to him in three days. He could not tell her the cold hard truth—that these pictures did not touch his heart. What did he know about photographs? What did he know about art? Nothing.
Waiting, she licked her lips nervously. He had the vision of that pink tongue flicking at the corners of her full mouth. He felt himself tighten as he imagined those sweet pink lips against his rough skin, gasping her pleasure, crying out his name.
No—he had to stop torturing himself!
But he’d never experienced anything like this, being so close to a woman he desired without being able to possess her. Did she even know the power she had over him?
“Stefano?”
“The pictures are fine,” he muttered. Roughly, he pushed the stack of photographs aside and turned away.
“No.” The sharpness of Annabelle’s voice stopped him. “Don’t be polite, Stefano. I want to know what you actually think.”
He slowly turned back to face her.
“I think they are unremarkable,” he said quietly. “Verídicamente, I expected better from you.”
She blinked, clearly shocked. “What?”
“There is no passion in your photographs. No heat or wildness.” Lifting the stack of printed pictures from the table, he placed them gently back into her hands. “I’m sorry, Miss Wolfe. But you have completely failed to capture the essence of my ranch.”
She stared at him numbly. “You … you don’t like them?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then—”
He shook his head. “The pictures are beautiful, but have no life. They are like a beautiful corpse.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Your pictures are frozen, Annabelle. They are dead.”
Annabelle choked out a gasp. He might as well have slapped her in the face.
Your pictures are frozen. They are dead.
She’d never felt so empty or so alone as she had for these past three days. Mrs. Gutierrez had taken care of her almost like a mother, packing snacks and tea for her when Annabelle went up to the old Moorish ruin, now just a pile of rocks overlooking the valley. Even the boys had looked after her, reminding her of her own brothers in childhood. It had almost been like … a family.
Except for the constant ache in her heart.
She missed Stefano.
She hadn’t had any more nightmares to wake him. She hadn’t dreamed at all, in fact. Her mind was blank. She had nothing but emptiness in her heart as she tried to throw herself into her work. She’d dragged her heavy camera bags and lighting equipment all over the ranch, taking photographs with her camera tripod and long-lensed cameras, using her lights for closer portraits inside the house.
But the truth was that she’d barely noticed the images she photographed. Not when it took all of her focus not to rush back into Stefano’s arms.
So with a trembling heart, Annabelle had waited for Stefano’s verdict as he looked through the pictures spread across the table. She’d prayed that somehow, by some miracle, he would think they were good. Instead, she’d never had her skill so thoroughly scorned.
I’m sorry, Miss Wolfe. But you have completely failed to capture the essence of my ranch.
Now, as his brutal judgment still echoed across the dining hall, Annabelle stared up at him in horror.
The boys started mumbling out excuses in Spanish.
“Better check on the new colt.”
“Need to go shovel something.”
“Need to be … somewhere else.”
The teenagers grabbed the last pastries from the table before filing out of the room with surreptitious back glances. After one last reproachful look at her employer, Mrs. Gutierrez followed them, closing the door softly behind her.
Annabelle looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Why would you say something so cruel to me?” she whispered. She felt like she was floundering, drowning. “You’re—you’re just trying to hurt me, because of … before.”
Stefano set his jaw. “Do you really think so little of me?” he said harshly. “It gave me no pleasure to tell you this. Believe me. But you wanted the truth.”
The truth. The truth was Annabelle felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.
But she could see in his face that he wasn’t trying to hurt her. He truly thought that her work was frozen and dead. A beautiful corpse. Just like Annabelle herself.
She’d always known she would someday be exposed as a talentless fraud. Barely holding back tears, she turned away. “I … I should go …”
Stefano grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.”
The pressure of his hand on her wrist left her light-headed as the pace of her heartbeat quickened. She ripped her hand away. Stuffing the pictures back in her bag, she lashed out, “What more can you possibly say?”
He looked at her. “You are a brilliant photographer, Annabelle. I have seen your work. You can do better than this.”
“Maybe I can’t.”
“You have observed Santo Castillo from a distance. But you need to feel it. You need to live it.” His dark eyes plundered her soul. “You need to come work with me.”
She stared at him in confusion. “Work? With you?”
“Sí. With the horses.”
Annabelle thought of shoveling hay, rather than watching through the safe cool distance of her camera lens. She thought of the sweat, the hard work, the risk of her makeup smearing and revealing her scar. And worst of all, she thought of being so close to Stefano, when it took all of her effort not to throw herself in his arms and beg him to make love to her.
She pressed her fingernails painfully into her palm. “Why would you want my help with the horses?”
“It is you who needs the help.” He brushed against her in a touch that seemed accidental, but she knew was not. The slow burn of his nearness sent tingles down her spine, causing her lips to tingle and her toes to curl. “To understand the ranch, you must feel it—” reaching up, he put his hand over her heart, not quite touching her blouse “—right here
.”
She looked up at him. She could feel the radiant heat of his hand. Annabelle’s heart pounded even harder, slamming against her ribs.
Then he took both her hands in his own.
“Will you come with me?” His fingers enfolded hers, his bare skin against hers. He did it gently, like a lover’s tender clasp, and yet her limbs burned, as if coming back to life after a long winter.
Annabelle knew she was in danger. Knew it to her bones. He wasn’t trying to seduce her body now, but her heart. Even as she shook with need for his warmth, his touch, she was scared of his power over her, and the knowledge that if she surrendered, a love affair could come to only one sad end: her own destruction.
She swallowed. “I …”
He cupped her cheek with his hand. “Come with me today, Annabelle,” he whispered. “No camera. Just you.” His hot, dark gaze fell briefly to her lips, and her mouth tingled, making her feel dizzy. “For one day, leave your camera behind. Look with your eyes. Look … with your heart.”
“Why do you care so much?”
A smile traced his sensual mouth. “I want your photographs of Santo Castillo to shine. To leave no doubt that my ranch is the best in the world.”
“The best in Europe.”
He gave her a grin. “That is a difference of opinion.”
She laughed at the gleam in his eyes, then sobered. “Is that the only reason?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I look at you and see an innocent, bright young woman that’s been hurt by the world. Beneath your cold exterior, Annabelle, I see a broken heart.”
She nearly gasped. How did he know? How did he see?
Setting his jaw, he shook his head. “It infuriates me. Like seeing a promising yearling with its spirit broken.”
Annabelle tried to hide her emotion beneath sarcasm. “So you’re comparing me to a horse?”
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Let me help you,” he whispered. “Let me at least try.”
Pressing her lips together, she looked up into his gleaming dark eyes. “But what if I fail?” He gave a low snicker. “Fail? You’ve already failed.”
She choked out a laugh. “You have a funny way of trying to reassure someone.”
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