“Isabel-”

A saint would have turned back so they could settle this, but she was no saint, and she kept walking.

Ren stood in the darkened doorway gazing out at the marble statues faintly lit by the moonlight washing the garden. The villa was quiet except for Dexter Gordon’s heartbreaking saxophone playing behind him. Harry and Tracy had moved back in for the night so Isabel could have the farmhouse to herself again, but they’d gone to bed hours ago. Ren rubbed his eyes. Dr. Isabel Favor, the great believer in talking things out, had turned her back on him and walked away. Not that he blamed her. He’d been a prick.

His amazon had too many tender spots, and he was starting to bruise every one of them. But it was either bruise or get bruised, right? And he couldn’t let her poke around in his psyche again, delving into all those pockets of self-disgust he’d been carrying around for as long as he could remember. She’d set the conditions of their relationship. “This is only about sex,” she’d said. “A short- term physical commitment.”

He lit a cigarette. Why did she have to be so damned pushy? She’d go ballistic when she realized he’d be playing a child molester. Not only that, but she knew how much time he’d spent with the girls. She’d put two and two together in a heartbeat and figure out he’d been playing with them as part of his research. Then all hell really would break loose, and just like that he’d lose what little of her respect he’d been able to gain. The story of his life…

He took a deep drag. This was his punishment for getting involved with a righteous woman. All that nutty goodness had sucked him in, and now he was suffering for it. Food didn’t taste as good when they weren’t together; music didn’t sound as sweet. He should be getting bored with her. Instead, he was bored without her.

He could get back into her good graces with a simple apology. Sorry I held out on you. It wouldn’t occur to her to hang on to a grudge, and unlike him, she didn’t know how to sulk. She deserved an apology, but then what? God help her, she was falling in love with him. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it, even to himself, but she telegraphed her emotions. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. The smartest woman he knew, and she was falling in love with a man who was leaving invisible smudge marks on her skin whenever he touched her. And the worst thing-the thing he couldn’t forgive himself for-was how good it felt to receive the love of a righteous woman.

His anger, as misplaced as it was, resurfaced. In so many ways she knew him better than anyone, so why hadn’t she protected herself? She deserved someone with a clean past. A Boy Scout, a student-council president, someone who’d spent spring break building houses for the poor instead of getting wasted.

He took a final drag and flicked the butt onto the loggia. Acid burned in the pit of his stomach. Any villain worth his stripes would take advantage of the situation. Enjoy what he could get and walk away without a qualm. Villains were easy to figure out. But what would the hero do?

The hero would walk away before the heroine could get hurt anymore. The hero would make the break as clean as he could and do it in a way that would leave the heroine with a sense of relief that she’d escaped disaster so easily.

“I heard music.”

He whipped around and saw Steffie padding across the marble floor toward him. This was her last night here. With the kids gone, he’d finally have some peace and quiet, except he’d already told them they could come back every day to swim.

She wore a faded yellow nightgown printed with some kind of cartoon character he supposed he should be able to identify but couldn’t. Her dark, pixie cut was sticking up at the cowlick, and she had a crease on her cheek. As she came to his side, he knew he’d have to rely on all the acting technique he’d ever learned to play Street, because no matter how much research he did, he’d never be able to understand how anyone could hurt a kid. “What are you doing up?”

She pulled her nightdress to her thighs, and he saw a thin scratch on her calf. “Brit’ny kicked me while she was sleeping and cut my leg with her toenail.”

He needed a drink. He didn’t want pixie-haired little girls coming to him for comfort in the middle of the night. During the day it was different. He could detach and observe. But not at night, when he already felt a thousand years old. “You’ll live. Go back to bed.”

“You’re crabby.”

“Go see your mom and dad.”

Her dark brows slammed together. “They locked their door!”

He had to smile. “Yeah, well, life’s tough.”

“What if I saw a spider?” she said indignantly. “Who’d kill it?”

“You would, pal.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You know what I used to do when I was a kid and saw a spider?”

“Stomp on it hard.”

“No. I’d scoop it up and take it outside.”

Her eyes grew round and horrified. “Why’d you do that?”

“I like spiders. I had a pet tarantula once.” It had died, of course, because he’d stopped taking care of it, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Most spiders are pretty nice bugs.”

“You’re weird.” She squatted down to pick at some chipped blue glitter nail polish on her big toe. Her vulnerability worried him. Just like Isabel, she needed to toughen up.

“Time to cut the crap, Stef. That spider stuff is old news. You’re smart, and you’re strong enough to handle it without running to Mommy and Daddy in the middle of the night like a big baby.”

She gave him the haughty look she’d learned from her mother. “Dr. Isabel says we need to talk about our feelings.”

“Yeah, well, we all know how you feel about spiders, and we’re tired of hearing it. You’re doing some kind of emotional transfer thing anyway.”

“That’s what she said. Because I was worried about my mom and dad.”

“You sure don’t need to worry about them now.”

“You don’t think I should be scared of spiders anymore?” She looked both accusatory and skeptical, but he also thought he detected a hint of hope.

“You don’t have to like them, but stop making them so important. It’s better to face what’s scaring you than to keep running from it.”

Hypocrite. When had he ever made himself face that decades-old emptiness inside him?

She scratched her hip. “Did you know we get to go to school here?”

“I heard.” Jeremy had apparently led his sisters in a rebellion against Tracy’s homeschooling attempts, which had ended up with Harry writing a check to the local officials so the kids could attend the school in Casalleone until they left at the end of November. When Harry had asked his opinion, Ren had pointed out that they already spoke enough Italian for minimal exchanges, and he thought it would be a good experience for them.

“Are you going to marry Dr. Isabel?”

“No!”

“Why not? You like her.”

“Because Dr. Isabel is too nice for me, that’s why.”

“I think you’re nice.”

“That’s because you’re a pushover.”

She yawned and slipped her hand in his. “Tuck me back in bed now, okay?”

He gazed down at the top of her head, then pulled her to his side for a quick squeeze. “Okay, but only because I’m bored.”

They all gathered in front of the villa the next morning to see the Briggses off, even though they weren’t going far. Ren slipped Jeremy a couple of CDs he knew the kid liked, accepted a sticky kiss from Connor, admired Brittany’s final cartwheel, and gave Steffie a last-minute pep talk about not being a wimp. Isabel stayed busy, talking to everyone but him. He wasn’t surprised she was still pissed. In her world the fact that he hadn’t mentioned the arrival of the script counted as a major betrayal.

As the car disappeared down the lane, she waved at Anna, then turned to head back to the farmhouse. Marta was moving in with Tracy to help take care of the kids, and Isabel would be alone there. As he watched her walk toward the path, the roll he’d eaten for breakfast settled into a hard lump in his stomach. He might as well get this over with. “Hold on,” he said. “I’ve got something for you.”

She turned. He took in the black sweater she’d knotted around her waist, the sleeves neatly crossed. Everything about her was tidy, except her feelings for him. Hadn’t she figured out yet that she’d gotten caught up in the lure of the forbidden? And she wasn’t the only one.

He picked up the script he’d left between the rails of the balustrade, carried it over to her, and held it out. “Take it.”

She didn’t say anything. She just looked at it.

“Go on. Read it.”

She didn’t get sarcastic as he would have. Instead, she nodded and tucked it under her arm.

As he watched her walk away, he reminded himself he was doing the right thing. But, God, he’d miss having her in his life. He’d miss everything about their time together… except the nagging certainty that he’d somehow corrupt her.

He spent the rest of the morning in the vineyard so he could avoid smoking his way through the nearest pack of cigarettes. As he listened to Massimo, he tried not to think about which scene Isabel might be reading at that moment or how she’d be reacting to it. Instead, he watched the old man glance at the sky and ruminate on all the disasters that could still transpire before the next day’s vendemmia-a sudden squall, an early frost that would turn the ripe fruit into dripping slime.

When he could no longer handle Massimo’s gloom, he headed back to the villa, but it felt depressingly empty without the kids running around. He’d just decided to go for a swim when Giulia showed up looking for Isabel.

“She’s at the farmhouse,” he told her.

“Would you give this to her? She wanted me to call Paolo’s granddaughter again and ask about the gifts he sent. I talked to Josie last night, and this is everything she remembered.”

Ren took the piece of paper she held out and studied the list. It was made up of practical items, things for the house and garden: clay pots, a set of fireplace tools, a bedroom lamp, a key rack, bags of dried porcini, wine, olive oil. He tapped the paper with his finger. “This lamp… maybe the base…”

“Alabaster-and too small. I asked.”

“It was worth a try.” He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Even though he had no belief in the statue’s powers, he didn’t like the fact that he hadn’t been able to help them find it. As the current lord of the manor, he somehow felt as if he should have come up with a way to get it done.

After Giulia left, he headed for the pool to swim some laps. The water was chilly, but not cold enough to numb him, something he would have welcomed. When he got tired, he flipped to his back, and that was when he saw Isabel sitting by the umbrella.

She’d crossed her ankles and tucked them off to the side. Her straw hat shaded her face, and the script lay in her lap. He dove under, then resurfaced as far away from her as he could get in a cowardly desire to postpone the inevitable. Finally he pushed himself up onto the deck and grabbed his towel.

She watched him come toward her. Normally her battle to keep her eyes from drifting to his crotch would have amused him, but today he didn’t feel like laughing.

“It’s a great script,” she said.

Apparently she’d decided to lull him before she went in for the kill. He played the world-weary movie star, sprawling down next to her, tilting his head back, and shutting his eyes against the sun. “Yeah.”

“It’s not too difficult to figure out why you didn’t want me to see it.”

A surly attitude was the quickest way to bring this to its ugly conclusion. “I’m not looking for any lectures.”

“I won’t give you any. This isn’t a film I’d stand in line to watch, but I know I’ll be the exception. The critics are going to love it, and so will audiences.”

He popped open one eye. Instead of coming at him directly, she was setting him up for a sneak attack.

“I can see why you’re excited about it,” she went on. “This part is going to push you to your limits. You’re at the place in your career right now where you need that.”

He couldn’t take any more, and he shot out of his chair. “He’s a child molester!”

She blinked her eyes. “I know that’s not what you signed on for, but it’ll be an amazing performance challenge.” She had the balls to smile at him. “You’re sublimely talented, Ren, and you’ve been waiting your whole career for something like this.”

He shoved a chair out of his way and headed across the pool deck. At that moment he almost hated her. She was so relentlessly reasonable, so unmercifully fair, and now he was going to have to spell out the details. “It seems to have escaped your attention that I was spending all that time with Tracy’s girls because I’ve been using them for research.”