Free Vettori's Damsel in Distress (Harlequin Romance Large Print) by Liz Fielding

corners of the window. He was looking at her reflection. ‘Whichever it is, there’s nothing we can do about it.’
    ‘Except enjoy it. If my mother were alive she’d go out and make a snowman.’
    ‘Now?’
    ‘Absolutely. It might turn to rain in the night and the moment would be lost.’ The thought brought a smile to her lips. ‘She got us all up in the middle of night once, when it had begun to snow. We made snowmen, had a snowball fight and afterwards she heated up tins of tomato soup to warm us up.’
    ‘And was it all gone in the morning?’
    ‘No, but we had a head start on all the other kids.’ Her eyes were shining at the memory as she turned to him. ‘She never let the chance for fun pass. Maybe she sensed that time was short and she had to make memories for us while she could.’
    ‘Is that what you’re doing? Following her example,’ he added when she frowned.
    ‘Always say goodbye as if it’s for the last time. Live each day as if it’s our last...’
    ‘Are you saying that you want to go out and have a snowball fight?’ he asked, not wanting to remember how he’d parted from his father.
    ‘Would you come?’ she asked but, before he could answer, she shook her head. ‘Just kidding. It’s been a long day.’
    ‘And you’ve had a bad introduction to life in Isola,’ he said, although, on reflection, it wasn’t an evening which, given the option, he would have missed. ‘On the other hand, a little excitement to raise the heartbeat is never a bad thing and you did say that you came to Italy for experience?’
    As their eyes met in the reflection in the window he wanted to rewind the clock, stop it at the moment her tongue had touched his lip... Then, as if it was too intimate, intense, she turned to look directly at him.
    ‘Believe me,’ she said, catching a yawn, ‘it has delivered and then some.’
    ‘You’re tired.’ She had neither accepted nor refused Lisa’s room but, whatever doubts she might have had about staying, whatever doubts he might have about the wisdom of offering it to her, the weather had made the decision for them both. ‘Lisa brought up your case,’ he said, picking up the mug of tea he’d made her and leading the way to the room his cousin had dressed to make it look, to the casual glance, as if she was using it.
    There was a basket of cosmetics on the dressing table, a book beside the bed. A pair of shoes beneath it, lying as if they’d just been kicked off.
    ‘How long has she been living with Giovanni?’
    ‘She followed him here from Melbourne just over a year ago,’ he said, picking up Lisa’s shoes and tossing them into the wardrobe. ‘To be honest, I didn’t think their relationship would survive the day-to-day irritations of living together.’ Not that he’d cared one way or the other at the time.
    ‘Is that the voice of experience?’ she asked.
    ‘I came close once.’ He looked at her and she shook her head.
    ‘Not even close,’ she said.
    ‘The village gossips?’
    ‘They wouldn’t have stopped me.’
    ‘No...’ He crossed to the shutters, stood for a moment looking down at the piazza. The snow was blanketing the city in silence, softening the edges, making everything look clean.
    Angelica pressed her hands against the window and sighed. ‘I love snow.’ Her voice was as soft as one of the huge snowflakes sticking to the window and, unable to help himself, he turned and looked at her. ‘It’s like being in another world,’ she said, ‘in a place where time doesn’t count.’ And then she turned from the window and looked up at him.
    Geli could feel Dante’s warmth as they stood, not quite touching, in front of the cold window. Everything about the moment was heightened, her senses animal sharp; she could almost hear the thud of his pulse beating a counterpoint to her own, almost taste the pheromones clouding the air. She wanted to tug his shirt from his waistband and rub her cheek against his chest, scent marking him,