He arrived at the lounge chair beside her, sat down with his back to her, and began to unlace his boots. She couldn’t resist looking at the firm muscles across his back and the way his broad shoulders narrowed to a slim waist.
“Were you working in the vineyard?” she asked.
“Yes. We’ve been there since daybreak, but now it’s siesta time. Too hot to work in the sun.”
He removed his boots and socks, stood up, and stripped off his T-shirt.
Lillian took one look at his bare chest, and her breath caught in her lungs, for he was fit, tanned, and muscular, with dark chest hair.
After tossing the shirt onto the lounge chair, he strode to the outdoor shower, rinsed off, then dived straight into the pool with a big splash. She watched him swim below the surface like a torpedo from the deep end to the shallow before breaking the surface and flicking his hair out of his eyes.
“Feels great!” he shouted. “You should come in. It’s too hot to be sitting in the sun.”
She couldn’t resist. Standing up, she shrugged out of the cover-up, let it fall, then strode quickly to the edge of the pool and dived in. When she emerged, Anton was treading water a few feet away.
“I can’t believe how hot it is,” she said, “and I live in Florida.” She ran her hand down her face to whisk away the water.
They swam around each other for a moment or two.
“How is the sucker removal going?” she asked with a grin.
“Very well.” He ducked beneath the surface and swam to the shallow end. Lillian did the same but swam in the opposite direction.
Before long, it grew awkward, perhaps because they both recognized a mutual attraction and knew it was dangerous. Perhaps, in the water, under the hot Italian sun, with their bodies bare, it was best to put some distance between them.
Eventually, Lillian got out of the pool and returned to her lounge chair, where she toweled off, sat down, and reached for her book again.
Anton continued to swim laps.
She opened to the page where she had inserted the bookmark but only pretended to be reading. How could she possibly concentrate when she couldn’t take her eyes off Anton and her entire being was humming with awareness?
After a time, he relaxed in the water. He closed his eyes and floated on his back.
Cicadas buzzed like electric currents in the olive trees. A butterfly flitted lightly across the surface of the water.
Eventually Anton opened his eyes and swam to the side of the pool. “Are you coming for dinner tonight?”
Lillian laid her book down on her lap. Lifting her sunglasses off her nose to look down at him, she asked, “Am I invited?”
“Of course. You’re invited every night. Everyone expects you.”
Their gazes locked and held. She felt her shoulders burning under the hot sun. “Then I’ll be there.”
He pushed away and swam backward, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. “What are you reading?”
She held up the book. “Clan of the Cave Bear .”
“Is it good?”
“I’m not sure yet. I only just started it, and I’m having a hard time staying focused. I can’t seem to concentrate.”
He swam to the ladder and climbed out of the pool. Water glistened on his torso and dripped from his shorts. Lillian watched his every move as he stalked toward her. The muscles in his upper arms tensed and flexed as he used his T-shirt to dry himself.
“It must be contagious,” he said. “I can’t seem to concentrate lately either.”
Her lips parted slightly while her heart thudded against her rib cage. His nearness was overwhelming.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said.
“Okay.”
He gave her a brief glance before he picked up his boots and walked toward the gate.
Lillian couldn’t tear her eyes away from his shirtless body as he sauntered up the grassy hill. If she were sensible, she would come up with some sort of excuse to get out of dinner at the villa that night. But the way Anton made her feel inside eradicated any possibility of acting sensibly. She was overcome. Mostly, it was a sexual desire—she couldn’t deny it—but that wasn’t everything. Something about Anton Clark felt like home, and all she wanted to do was run toward that place and curl up in it.
They dined outdoors that night, by the light of a dozen thick white wax candles. It was a larger crowd than usual and included a few vineyard workers and a new Italian tour guide—a university student who lived in town. Her name was Teresa, and she was tall, slender, and very pretty. Before dinner, Lillian had watched Anton speak to her for a while at the edge of the lawn, swirling his red wine around in his glass, holding it up to the light of the sunset and showing her how to identify the legs and articulate the aromas. Lillian began to wonder if it was his habit to be kind and attentive to all his tour guides, and perhaps she was making too much of the attraction between them. Life would certainly be easier if that were the case, if she could sweep her infatuation aside and recognize it as nothing more than a foolish crush on her handsome, charismatic boss.