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Rose looked up, blinking the man in question into focus. He’d shed his suit jacket and vest. Now his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, his sleeves rolled up. She had to tear her gaze from the warm brown column of his throat, only to have it settle on the strength of his forearms before she finally was able to look anywhere else.

“It’s all right,” she managed as she moved her gaze around the cabin, desperate to look at anything but him. “I was exploring this amazing plane.”

“Are you hungry? It’s almost suppertime.”

Rose took a steadying breath, forcing herself back to some normalcy. “Actually, I am,” she confessed with a smile. “Starving.”

“Well, you are eating for two,” he remarked, smiling back, and the banter, such as it was, felt nice. Still smiling, he sat down next to her on the sofa, stretching his arm out so the tips of his fingers were almost, but not quite, brushing her shoulder. Rose had the impulse to move half an inch closer so that they could, and she only just resisted doing so, staying completely still instead.

Christos was gazing at her steadily, his golden-brown eyes warm with approbation and nearly gold with intent, and the lightness of the moment suddenly turned serious. Intense and expectant.

“I wanted to say,” he said in a low voice that thrummed right through her, “how grateful I am that you’ve agreed to come to Italy. How much it means to me and my family.” He paused, his gaze still on her, moving across her face, making her feel warm all over, barely able to take in his words.

“Maybe you should tell me who your family is,” Rose suggested, her voice just a little too breathy. Having Christos look at her so intently was really messing with her brain—and her body. His fingers were still so close to her shoulder, and part of her could only think about leaning in, letting him touch her, even in the briefest of ways. “Who am I going to be meeting?” she asked, trying to sound as if she wasn’t completely overcome by his mere presence.

“My mother, mainly. My father died of a heart attack six years ago.” He spoke tonelessly, but she sensed his pain, like something humming right beneath his skin.

“I’m sorry,” Rose murmured.

“I know you know what that feels like,” he replied quietly. “It just about broke my mother, and then Luca six years after…” He shook his head. “It’s been very hard for her. She is so very glad you’ve agreed to come.”

“I look forward to meeting her.” Rose straightened, determined not to let his closeness affect her so much. If these three months were going to work, she simply had to get a handle on her physical response. The trouble was, it just felt so nice. The pine-and-citrus smell of him made her head spin. The heat coming off his body made her melt. And the very possibility that his fingers might so much as brush her shoulder made her feel dizzy with longing.

How on earth was she going to survive three months of this?

Chapter Ten

Christos watched Rose’s tongue dart out to touch her lips. She shifted where she sat, the cotton of her loose sundress—she’d changed from this morning, and this outfit was just as colorful and crazy—sliding off one shoulder and tightening over her breasts. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, and her vanilla-and-flowers fragrance was making him a little crazy. He’d just spoken with his mother about seeing if they could secure a price, and all he could think about was touching her.

This was so dangerous. So stupid. And yet here he was, leaning closer, letting his fingers brush her shoulder as he breathed in her scent. Having no idea what the next moment might hold. What he wanted it to, except that when it came to Rose Delaney, he wanted more. Even when she was asking him searching questions, making him feel so unsettlingly vulnerable, he wanted more.

“Signor?”

One of his staff stood at the entrance to the main cabin, a white cloth laid over one arm. “Shall I bring supper?”

Christos leaned back, raking his hand through his hair as he expelled a long, low breath. Was he losing his mind? “Yes, thank you, Matteo,” he said, his tone a little too abrupt. “You may bring it in now.”

He rose from the sofa, his back to Rose, knowing he needed to get control of himself. Why did this woman affect him so much, both physically and emotionally? Of all the women to be affected by, Rose Delaney was certainly the most dangerous. The most ridiculous. He could not let either attraction or sentiment cloud his mind or distract him from his purpose.

He turned around to face Rose and saw her eyeing him thoughtfully, her head tilted to one side so her hair flowed down her shoulder all the way to her waist.

“Maybe,” she said, a hint of something almost like amusement in her voice, along with a tremble of nervousness, “we should just talk about it.”

“Talk about what?” Christos asked shortly. He did not want another rehashing of whether Rose thought he was too bossy, or something about the logistics of the summer, although certainly that would be easier than the emotional subjects she seemed so intent on pursuing. He didn’t want to talk about those, either. Did he?

“About…about this.” She motioned to the space between them, and he stilled. Did she mean…

Matteo came in with a tray of silver serving dishes, and the moment, whatever it had been, was broken. Christos murmured his thanks as Rose uncurled herself from the sofa and Matteo set up the meal. Neither of them spoke as he finished. He excused himself, and Christos pulled out her chair.

“This looks delicious,” Rose murmured as she helped herself to the offerings—chicken in lemon sauce, thinly cut steak, several salads and fresh bread.

“I ordered a bit of everything again, just in case.” He helped himself to a few of the dishes, grateful that that moment, whatever it had been, had passed, and yet also curious to know what she’d been going to say. It had felt like something different. Still, he knew it would be safer not to press the point.

Outside the night sky was darkening to indigo, and Matteo had dimmed the main cabin’s lights before leaving. The mood had turned intimate, maybe even expectant. Christos tried to think of something anodyne to say, but his mind came up empty. Rose speared a piece of steak, her gaze lowered, her expression thoughtful.

“So, are we going to talk about it?” she asked suddenly, looking up, her hazel gaze so very clear, a touch of pink in her cheeks. She was nervous, Christos realized, but she seemed excited, too, and a lick of answering excitement went through him because he was pretty sure he knew what she meant.

He leaned back in his chair, doing his best to look—and feel—relaxed, even if he was anything but. “Talk about what?”