But the garden had been neglected for months. The flowers were now overgrown and half-wild. The blooms now reached up into the warm blue sky, some as tall as the stone walls that had been built from the ancient Roman foundations.

She leaned forward to smell one of the enormous yellow roses. Yellow for memory. No wonder it had the strongest scent. She missed Giovanni’s warmth, his kindness. She felt so guilty that she’d forgotten him, even for a moment. For the length of a kiss …

She closed her eyes, breathing in the fragrance, listening to the wind in the trees above, feeling the warmth of the Tuscan sun on her skin.

“Hello, Lia,” a voice said quietly.

She whirled around.

It was him.

His dark eyes gleamed as he stared at her through the wrought-iron gate. Pushing it open, he slowly entered the garden. His black shirt and black jeans stood out starkly against the profusion of colorful half-wild roses. There was a predatory grace in his body as he approached her like a stalking lion. She felt the intensity of his gaze from her fingers to her toes.

Somehow, he was even more handsome here than he’d been in New York. The man was as wild and savage as the forest around them. As unrestrained in his masculine beauty as the sharp-thorned roses.

And they were alone.

He stood between her and the garden door.

This time there would be no taxi. No escape.

She instinctively folded her arms over her chest, trying to stop herself from trembling as she backed away. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t difficult.”

“I didn’t invite you here!”

“No?” he said coolly. He reached for her, twining a black tendril of her hair around his finger as his dark eyes caressed her face. “Are you sure?”

She couldn’t breathe. Birds sang beyond the medieval stone walls once built to keep invading marauders out. The same walls that now kept her in.

“Please leave me,” she whispered, shaking with desire for him. For his warmth. For his touch. For the way he made her feel alive again and young and a woman. She licked her dry lips. “I want you to go.”

“No,” he said. “You don’t.”

And, lifting her chin, he kissed her.

His lips were so hard and soft and sweet, she could hear the buzz of honeybees in the medieval garden, their secret world hidden behind the crumbling stone walls. The fragrance of overgrown half-wild roses drenched her senses. And she felt dizzy. She was lost, lost in him. And she didn’t want it to ever end.

He pushed her back against a wall that was warm with sunlight and thick with twisting vines of wisteria. He kissed her again, more forcefully. Teasing her. Taking. Demanding. Seducing …

Giovanni’s chaste peck on her forehead at their wedding hadn’t prepared her for this. All night on the lonely plane ride across the Atlantic, she’d tried to convince herself that her passionate reaction to the dark stranger’s kiss had been a moment of madness, a one-off that could never be repeated. But the pleasure was even greater than before, the sweet agony only increasing with the hard tension of her longing. All her grief and loneliness and pain fell away. There was only the hot demand of his mouth, the pleasurable caress of his hands.

What he wanted he took.

She tried to resist. She really did. But it was like trying to push away Christmas or happiness or joy. Like trying to push away life itself.

Though she knew she shouldn’t, she wanted him.

She returned his kisses hesitantly, then with a hunger that matched his own. She trembled at the brazen force of her own desire as he encouraged her every tremulous touch, murmuring appreciation at her slightest attempt at a caress.

She felt him pull off her little white shift dress, then her bra. She gasped as her naked breasts were bathed in the warm glow of sun.

With a groan, he lowered his mouth to suckle her nipple, and she cried out. Cupping her other breast in his hand, he licked and stroked her flesh. Caressing her hips, he pulled down her panties, dropping them to the grass.

And she couldn’t stop shaking.

“Lia,” he said hoarsely. “Ah, Lia. What you do to me …”

He picked her up in his strong arms. She stared up at his handsome face, at the intensity in his deep dark eyes.

She suddenly knew this fire could consume them both.

He gently laid her down on the soft grass. Covering her body with his own, he moved slowly against her. She moaned, wanting something, not even sure what she wanted but wanting it now. Unzipping his pants, he spread her naked thighs apart with his own. She felt his hard shaft demanding entrance, and she quivered beneath him, tense and yearning.

He lowered his head to kiss her, his lips and tongue intertwining passionately with her own.

And he filled her with a single deep thrust.

Pain stabbed through her, making her gasp.

He froze, looking down at her, shock rippling over his handsome face.

“How is it possible? You’re a virgin?”

CHAPTER FIVE

LIA, a virgin?

Roark was in shock.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Every man desired her. She’d been married for ten years. How could she be a virgin?

How was it possible that Countess Lia Villani, the woman whose beauty seduced and entranced men beyond reason, had never been bedded until now?

But there was no mistaking the physical signs. Her earlier hesitation and awkward response to his first kiss, which he had taken as evidence of her pride, were cast in a new light.

Lia was innocent. Or at least, she had been.

Until Roark had possessed her.

A surge went through his blood. As he looked at her lying on the fallen rose petals, her hazel-green eyes so clear and so deep, he felt a strange breathless rush.

The intensity of the feeling reminded him of skydiving. Flying high above the clouds in Alaska, Roark remembered opening the door of the plane. Staring into nothing but air, he’d heard a buzzing in his ears as he threw himself headfirst off the edge.

He’d fallen with the wind howling in his ears, whipping painfully against his skin in a freefall. He’d felt the dizziness and danger as the earth approached at 130 miles an hour.

The adrenaline that ripped through him was the same now.

Lia was dangerous.

More dangerous than he’d ever realized.

But knowing he was the only man who’d ever had her, fierce pride and possessiveness went through him. Dangerous or not, he could not let her go.

He was still hard inside her. He knew he should pull away. He’d never taken any woman’s virginity but knew instinctively that it had just changed them both forever. They would always be connected by this, and that scared him.

She licked her full red lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he ground out.

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek with a small trembling hand. Her eyes were as many shades of hazel as the rose vines and soft earth beneath them. “You make me feel warm. I want you inside me …”

He groaned aloud.

He slowly drew back and thrust again inside her, this time more deeply. The pleasure was intense for him, and he had to sharply keep himself in control. He stifled her second gasp with a fierce kiss, seducing away her fear until she melted back in his arms. Until she moaned with pleasure, tossing back her head as he pressed her against the grass. He kissed her throat, sucking on the tender flesh of her ear. Her full breasts bounced softly as he thrust into her, moving with agonizing gentleness.

Holding back like this was killing him …

She cried out, clutching her nails into his back. He heard her intake of breath, felt the building tension of her body. He thrust into her, moving his hips side-to-side against her. He stroked her skin, riding her on the soft green grass, beneath the warm sun and the sweet scent of roses.

Then he heard her harsh gasp. She arched against him with a sharp cry that never seemed to end.

At that, he lost all control. Pushing into her, he thrust just three times before his world exploded in a burst of light.

Beautiful … rare … angel.

It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. His eyes remained closed as he held himself inside her, struggling for breath. It seemed to take years before he slowly came back to earth.

When he finally looked down at Lia’s beautiful face, her eyes were still closed. Her parted lips turned up sweetly, as if she were still in heaven. He looked down at her naked body, at the full breasts and wide hips and slightly curved belly of a 1940s pin-up girl. She was so lush and impossibly desirable. He could feel himself growing hard again as he looked at her.

Then he realized something. He hadn’t used a condom.

He’d just risked getting her pregnant.

He swore beneath his breath.

Furious at himself, he pulled away from her.

Lia’s eyes opened—her luminous hazel eyes with depths that seemed to go on forever. He watched her long, dark lashes flutter against her pale skin with a blush like roses on her cheeks.

He took a deep breath.

“Are you on the Pill?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Are you on the Pill?”

She shook her head. “No, why would I be?”

Why indeed? A cold sweat broke out over his body. He stood up and readjusted his clothes, righting his pants over his hips.

He could hardly believe he’d been so stupid.

Lia had some power over him that he didn’t understand. How could he have acted so foolishly—as mindless as a rutting bull driven half-mad with the scent of lust.

The overwhelming force of his desire for her felt too dangerous. Too close.

He didn’t want to care about anyone ever again.

A flash went through him, the memory of red flames, white snow and a desolate black sky. The sobbing. The crash of the fire and crackle of burning timber. Then, worst of all, the silence.

He pushed the thought away. Business. He had to think of business.

He cursed himself under his breath. Damn it, he still hadn’t asked her to sell him the New York property!

“The New York property …” he muttered, then stopped.

“What about it?”

Turning his head, he said hoarsely, “How is it possible that you were a virgin? You’re a widow. Every man desires you. They say the old count died of pleasure in your bed—”

She stiffened. “That’s not true!”

“I know.” He lifted her to her feet. Her naked body was a vision before his eyes, and even now, when he should have been satiated, he couldn’t stop looking at her. “But you were married. How can you be a virgin?”

“Giovanni was good to me,” she whispered. “He was my friend.”

“But never your lover.”

“No.”

And Roark was fiercely glad. He reveled in it.

But why? Why did he care that he’d been her only lover? What difference did it make?

Still naked and dazed in the sunshine of the garden, she took a breath and licked her full red lips. She was so beautiful he ached to take her inside the castle, find a wide bed and enjoy her body again at his leisure. To take his time and show her how long pleasure could last….

Why was she having such a strange effect on him? He took a deep breath, desperate to regain control over his body and his mind. Business. Ask her about the land! he ordered himself.

But his mouth wouldn’t follow his orders. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

It was because she was naked. It had to be. Once she was covered up, he would be able to think again. Bending to pick up her discarded white dress and panties from the grass, he handed them to her.

“Why did the count marry you, if not for your body?”

Looking dazed and disoriented, she stared at him, clutching the fabric in her hands. “He married me to be kind.”

“Right,” Roark said sardonically, forcing himself to look away. It was easier to be distant when he couldn’t see her or touch her. “That’s why men get married. To be kind. I had business dealings with Count Villani once or twice. The man was ruthless.”

“He was my father’s friend.” From the corner of his eye, he saw her slip on her dress, pulling up her panties beneath. “My father’s shipping company was stolen by a heartless corporate raider, and a few months later he died of a heart attack.”

Roark looked at her sharply.

“Giovanni came to L.A. for the funeral,” she continued simply. “He saw my sister had no money to pay for her treatment. He saw my mother was mad with grief. And he tried to save us.” She shook her head as tears filled her eyes. “But it was too late for them.”

A shipping company. Los Angeles. It was all starting to sound too familiar.

The Olivia Hawthorne Park Foundation thanks you for your generous donation.

Roark hadn’t paid attention to the name before. Now, a sick feeling went through his chest. “What was your father’s name?”

“Why?”

“Humor me.”

“Alfred … Alfred Hawthorne.”

Roark swore silently.

Just as he’d feared. Her father was the same man who, ten years ago, had mortgaged himself to the teeth trying to fight Roark’s hostile takeover of his shipping company. He had heard the man had died a few months later, followed to the grave by his teenage daughter who’d had some kind of brain tumor. Then the mother committed suicide with sleeping pills.

Only their oldest daughter had lived. Amelia.

Lia.

And she’d just given him her virginity.

Roark clenched his hands. She’d only done it because she didn’t know his name. By some miracle he’d managed not to tell her. But if she knew …

Once she knew, he wouldn’t have a shot in hell of getting her to spit on him to save him from burning to death, much less getting her to sell him the New York property.

“Did you know my father?” she asked softly, looking up at him.

“No.” And in a way it was true. He’d never really known the man. He’d just taken his poorly managed company and broken it into parts, destroying the docks and selling the valuable oceanfront property in Long Beach for a brand-new condominium development.

“I wish you had. I think you would have liked each other. Both powerful men, focused on success.”

The difference being that Roark always won, while her father had been a weak failure, a third-generation heir of a company he didn’t know how to properly run.

Roark managed not to point this out to her, however.

He had to convince Lia to sell him the New York property before she found out who he was.

Walking away from her, he took some papers out of the black leather briefcase he’d left beside the garden gate. The gate creaked loudly as he closed it and returned to her. “I want you to do something for me.”

“What is it?”

“A favor.”

“A favor?” she teased, smiling. “A bigger favor than giving you my virginity?”

He gave her his most charming smile in return. “It’s a small thing, really.” He paused. “Build your park somewhere else besides New York.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“Transfer your purchase rights to the property site to me. I will make it worth your while. I’ll pay you ten percent over the asking price. Call it a finder’s fee.” He spread his arms in an expansive gesture. “Build the park in Los Angeles to honor your sister. Let me build skyscrapers in New York.”

She looked up into his face, her skin the color of ash. “That’s what this was all about? That’s why you kissed me in New York? Why you followed me to Italy?”

He ground his jaw. “It wasn’t the only reason….”

She shoved his chest, pushing him away very, very hard as she looked wildly over the rose garden. “That’s why you paid a million dollars to dance with me at the charity ball.” Her eyes glittered as she raised her chin. “That was why you seduced me. Just to get the land from me?”

He was losing the deal. He could feel it slipping through his fingers.

Looking at her, he shook his head. “Of course I want the land. More than you can possibly know. I can build five skyscrapers on that property that will last hundreds of years. The biggest project I’ve ever done. It’ll be my legacy.” He took a deep breath. “But that has nothing to do with making love to you. Taking you like this was … a moment of pure insanity.” He reached for her, trying to bring her back into his arms, back under his control. “If I’d known you were a virgin …”

“You know everything about me now, don’t you?” she said bitterly. “My name. My family. Where I live. And I still know almost nothing about you.” Evading his grasp, she clenched her hands into fists. “I don’t even know your name.”

If she heard his name, all was lost. “What difference does my name make? Think of the deal I’m offering you.”

She raised her chin, and her dark-hazel eyes glittered. “I want to know your name, you cold-hearted bastard.”

“I’m offering you a fortune.” He pushed the land-transfer contract into her hands. “Just look at these numbers …”

“Tell me your name!” she shouted.

And he couldn’t lie to her. His honor was more important than anything—even than the deal of a lifetime. He took a deep breath.

“My name,” he said quietly, “is Roark Navarre.”

CHAPTER SIX

LIA stared at him. “Roark … Navarre?”

She still remembered her father’s cry that lovely June morning, long ago. “He’s done it, Marisa. Roark Navarre has ruined us.” Lia had just graduated from high school and was still reveling in being accepted by Pepperdine, an expensive private university in Malibu she’d attend in the fall. Olivia had just started a promising experimental treatment with a new doctor. And their mother, who always switched so quickly between ecstasy and despair, had been happily painting the distant Santa Monica pier with watercolors on canvas. The California sunshine had been bright and warm against their three-story beach house.

Then her father had come home in the middle of the morning, staggering into her mother’s arms as if he’d just received a heavy blow.

“He’s done it, Marisa. Roark Navarre has ruined us.”

Roark Navarre.

Now Lia whirled on him, trembling and hot with fury. “Your name is Roark Navarre?”

“So you do know me.”

“Of course I know you. You destroyed my family!”

“It wasn’t deliberate, Lia. It was just business.”

“Business,” she spat out, tossing her head with a derisive sneer. “Just like it was for the sake of business that you seduced me?”

“Lia, I didn’t realize who you were until just now.”

“Right.” She shook her head furiously. “Why should I believe a word you say? You caused my father to lose his company—”

“He would have lost it to someone, if not to me. Hawthorne was completely inept. A typical third-generation heir bumbling his way through a business he didn’t understand.”

“How dare you!” She paced, then stopped, covering her mouth with her hands in a horrified gasp. “I let you take my virginity.”

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you. I enjoyed it very much.”

She sucked in her breath, crumpling the contract he’d given her, twisting and strangling it in her hands.

“Get out.” She threw the contract at him. It bounced off his chest and fell to the grass. “The land is going to be a park, across the street from the hospital where my sister died. I would die before I let you put skyscrapers on Olivia’s park!”

Clenching his jaw, he shook his head. “You’re making this personal. It’s business. If you don’t have any fond feelings for me, fine. Take me for every penny you can. Force me to double my offer—”

“It’s too late.” She suddenly felt the insane urge to laugh. “Before I left New York, I signed the papers that turned the land irrevocably over to the trust. I sent it by messenger. It’s been too late for hours. The property is permanently out of your reach.”

She saw something like grief and fury cross his face. She’d hurt him. She’d prevented him from having something he really, really wanted.

And she was glad. She wished she could do more. She wished she could hurt him a fraction of the way he’d hurt her.

“Because of you, my father lost every penny we had,” she whispered. “My sister had to go for months without treatment. My mother couldn’t take the anguish of losing her husband and her daughter. They all died. And it’s your fault!”

“It was your father’s fault,” he said coldly. “Your father was the failure. He was a fool. A man shouldn’t have a wife or children if he can’t even take decent care of them—”

Lia slapped him.

Looking shocked, Roark touched his cheek.

She stared up at him with hatred. “Don’t you dare call my father a failure.” She felt tears rising to her eyes, and she fought them with all her might. She would die before she would let him see her cry! “You seduced me for the sake of skyscrapers that will never, ever love you back. And you call my father a failure? You call him a fool? He loved us. He’s a better man than you will ever be.”

Roark straightened, holding his hands stiffly clenched at his sides. For several seconds their eyes locked. Lia could hear the pant of her own anguished breathing and the sound of the birds overhead, a warm breeze rattling the leafy fullness of the trees.

Then his jaw clenched.

“I’ve already had your body,” he said. “And since it’s too late to buy the land, we have nothing else to discuss. Nothing about you is interesting enough to deserve another second of my time.” His eyes were like black ice as he tossed back callously, “Let me know if there’s a baby, won’t you?”

Picking up his briefcase, he turned and left through the garden gate.

Shocked, she listened to the departing sound of his footsteps. It wasn’t until she was alone in the rose garden that Lia allowed herself to collapse into sobs. Putting her face in her hands, she fell to her knees on the soft grass and cried. For her family. For herself.

She’d just given her virginity to the man who’d destroyed her family.

Four months after that horrible day they’d lost everything, her father had died of a heart attack in the little two-bedroom Burbank apartment they’d rented after their beach house was sold for debt.

Thank God for Giovanni. Her father’s old friend had come from Italy for the funeral. He’d seen eighteen-year-old Lia trying to support her sick younger sister and a mother who was silent and half-mad with grief. The next morning he’d proposed marriage.

“Your father once saved my life in the war, when I was barely older than you. I wish I’d known about your troubles—I wish he’d told me,” he’d said with tears in his eyes. “But I can take care of you all now. Marry me, Amelia. Become my countess.”

“Marry you?” she’d gasped. As kind as Count Villani was, he was three times her age!

“In name only,” he’d clarified, his cheeks turning red. “My wife of fifty years died last year. No one will ever replace Magdalena in my heart. I’ll never ask anything from you but your company, your friendship and the chance to repay my debt to a man who’s dead. He was my friend, and I didn’t even realize his business was in trouble. Your mother is too proud to accept my help, but if she believed this was truly your choice …”

So Lia had married him, and she’d never had reason to regret it. She’d been happy with him. He’d been a good man. But her marriage ultimately hadn’t saved her sister and mother. It had been too late to pursue the experimental treatment in L.A., so they’d moved to New York where Olivia could be a patient at St. Ann’s, the best pediatric brain cancer facility in the country. But in spite of her determination and bravery, Olivia had died at fourteen. A week later their fragile mother had died from an overdose of sleeping pills. Lia still wasn’t sure whether her mother had deliberately taken her life, or just been desperate for one night’s sleep to escape the grief. She almost didn’t want to know.

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