Secrets of Castillo del Arco by Trish Morey Page B

sometimes even sinister that made her want to reach out with her hands, smooth his brow, untangle his thoughts—and then he would look up, see her watching him and smile, chasing the shadows away.
    Venice suited him, she thought, sighing into the soft breeze and, just like Venice, he was unique. One of a kind. Impossible not to fall in love with.
    She stilled at the railing, her heart skipping a beat and then resuming just that slight bit quicker. She couldn’t love him, could she? Not really?
    Sure, she had always loved him; he had been almost family.
    Except that wasn’t what she was thinking now
.
    When she had been no more than a child, she had worshipped him as a child worshipped someone she adored like a hero, someone she could look up to.
    As an adolescent, her fantasies had been based more on fairy tales and rampant teenage hormones, of a fantasy Raoul that was larger than life that she could only dream about, the product of her own wild imagination.
    And now?
    Now she was a woman. Surely she did not imaginethat tingle every time they touched? Surely she did not imagine the magic of their kiss?
    Those things were no fantasy.
    Those things were real.
    But love? Could she really be falling in love with Raoul? They had been together just a few short days, after all.
    She must be crazy even to think it.
    She must be.
    And yet the magic of the last few days had not simply been all about Venice. Venice delighted her, it was true. But it wasn’t Venice that had her blood pounding or her heartbeat quickening right now, it was the thought of spending the evening with Raoul. Of losing herself in his bottomless gaze and feeling the heat from his body feed into hers, warming her in an endless, sensual glow.
    It was more than just Venice.
    It was Raoul, and she was falling in love with him.
    He found her waiting for him in the living room, standing on the balcony overlooking the canal, her expression pensive. She was more beautiful than ever in a soft pastel-print dress with a cinched waist and full skirt that made the most of her tan skin, chestnut hair and the near-sinful proportions of her figure, the feminine curve from breast through waist to hip.
    When had he gone from merely noticing that she had grown up to thinking she had grown into a very desirable woman? When had just a glance at her turned from benevolent approval of the changes time had brought about to something deeper and more fundamental, somethingthat stirred his blood and sent it simmering? Right now, it seemed like he had wanted her for ever.
    She turned when she heard him approach, her smile wide, welcoming and totally innocent—and that pang of guilt made itself known again, twisting this time, mercilessly so. He wished there was something about her he did not like, something he could find fault with aside from her unswerving faith in her human companions.
    Except that it was that very fault—the trait that made her see the best in the likes of that scum Garbas—that was also making his job so very, very easy.
    ‘Are you ready, Bella?’ he said, taking her hands in his. ‘For tonight’s adventure?’
    Her eyes held so many stars he could not count; her eager smile was infectious and he laughed in spite of his own misgivings and his own endless doubts. ‘Then let’s go.’
    Tonight the air was warm and blessed with only the lightest of breezes, the architecture of Venice turning honey gold under the westerning sun.
    ‘This evening,’ he said as he handed her into the gondola waiting at the sea door, ‘We continue our exploration of Venice from the water.’
    Together they sat back on the plushly cushioned reclining seat as the gondolier let the vessel drift away, setting it moving along the canal with long, languid sweeps through the water.
    They ventured into the Grand Canal, past St Mark’s Square, still heaving with tourists and its cloud of pigeons, past all of the sights that Raoul had shown her on foot. Only this way showed Venice as it