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mention last night to anyone. Anyone, ” she stressed. “If I’d known who you were last night, I’d never have taken off with you.”
    “Liar.”
    She closed her eyes, forcing herself to admit the painful truth. “Fine. That’s a lie. But I wouldn’t have gone with you because you’re Severo Dante. It would have been despite that fact.” She opened her eyes and fought to keep her gaze level and not betray the profound effect he had on her. “I owe the Fontaines more than I can possibly repay. Betraying them with their chief competitor isn’t the sort of repayment I had in mind. So, from now on, we’re through. Got it?”
    He came for her again, closing the distance so that no more than a whisper of space separated them. It would have been so easy to push aside that cushion of air and take another delicious tumble into insanity. Just the mere thought had her body reacting, softening and loosening in anticipation. He was a Dante, she struggled to remind herself. She hadn’t realized that fact before, and therefore couldn’t blame herself for what happened the previous night. But now that she did know, she had a duty to keep her distance.
    He brushed aside a lock of her hair. Just that slight a touch and she came totally unraveled. “It would seem we have a problem,” he repeated.
    No question about that. “I’ve been consorting with the enemy.” Still consorted. Still wanted to consort.
    He shook his head. “It’s a hell of a lot more complicated than that. Whatever this thing is between us—it isn’t over.” He traced his hand along the curve of her cheek, leaving behind a streak of fire. “It’s only just begun.”

Three
    “S evero left Le Premier, stopping at his apartment only long enough to change, before continuing to Sausalito to confront his grandfather about the events of the previous night. He had questions, questions only his grandfather could answer.
    “Primo?” he called, as he stepped through their front door.
    Silence greeted him, which meant Nonna was out and he should continue on toward the gated garden behind his grandparents’ hillside home if he wanted to find the object of his search. Sev headed for the kitchen at the rear of the house and stepped from the cool dusky interior into a sunlit explosion of scent and color.
    Sure enough, he found Primo hard at work on a bed of native Californian wildflowers. Thick gray hair escaped from beneath the brim of a canvas bucket hat and surrounded a noble, craggy face. At Sev’s approach, Primo rocked back onto his heels, grunting in pain from the arthritis that had begun to plague him in recent years.
    Fierce golden eyes, identical to Sev’s own, fixed on him. “Do me a favor.” He spoke in his native tongue, his Italian seasoned with the unique flavoring of his Tuscan birthplace. “Grab one of those bags of mulch and bring it over here. My ancient bones will be forever grateful.”
    Sev did as ordered. Stooping, he split the bag with a pair of gardening shears and set to work beside his grandfather. Memories from his childhood hovered, other days that mirrored this one, days filled with the scent of cool, salt-laden air combined with rich loamy earth. Long, industrious moments passed before Sev spoke.
    “I’m in the mood for a story, Primo.”
    His grandfather’s thick brows lifted in surprise. “You have a particular one in mind?”
    Sev spread a generous layer of mulch around a bed that combined the striking colors of golden poppies, baby blue eyes and beach strawberries. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He paused in his endeavors. “Tell me what happened when you met Nonna.”
    “Ah.” An odd smile played across the older man’s face. “Are you asking out of simple academic interest, or is there a more personal reason behind your sudden interest?”
    “Tell me.”
    Primo released a gruff laugh at the barked demand. “So. It is personal. You have finally felt the burn, have you, nipote? ”
    Sev wiped his brow before