Read The Sicilian's Bride for Free Online Page A

her. At first he’d looked at her as if she’d done it on purpose to annoy him.Without a word, he took his shirt off and opened the trunk of her car to remove the spare tire and a jack. She tried not to stare at his bare chest, since the sight of those well-toned muscles made her knees weak, but she couldn’t help it. Since her auto club didn’t have service in Italy, she had no choice but to watch him repair her tire. She hoped he didn’t think she’d repay him for his work by selling him her vineyard.
    She watched closely while he propped the jack into the fittings on the side of the car. Squatting next to the car, his broad shoulders were covered with a sheen of sweat as he started cranking the jack. He muttered something that she didn’t understand. Probably something like “Damned helpless American women.”
    She kneeled down next to him, her skirt pulled to one side, her bare knees pressed against the hot pavement. All in the interest of learning how to change a tire by herself some day. Kneeling there, she was all too aware of the essence of earthy macho male emanating from his half-naked body. Just being that near him made her feel as if her insides were melting. Or was that just the temperature outside?
    He handed her four small metal objects he’d taken off something, his rough palm brushing her fingers. He smelled like ripe grapes and the hot Italian sun. She felt faint. No wonder. It was way past lunch time and she hadn’t had anything to eat for hours, just half a glass of wine. Maybe that’s why she felt so lightheaded.
    When he’d replaced the flat tire with the new one, she said “Grazie,” and gave him a grateful smile.
    He didn’t smile back. Didn’t praise her attempt at speaking Italian. She didn’t expect him to. He’d used up all the good will he had for her, if any. He hadn’t introduced her to a single neighbor. Hadn’t even introduced her to his brother. But, after him changing her tire, she could hardly complain. He mightbe the lord of the manor and the owner of all the land around here, but he wasn’t too proud to do a menial job and she admired that about him. Another man might have called a garage and hired a mechanic. If only she’d told him then to forget about showing her other properties. It wouldn’t do any good, but he’d made up his mind. Well, so had she.

CHAPTER THREE

    A FTER a cup of delicious cappuccino and some hot rolls on the sun-dappled veranda of the lovely Hotel Cairoli the next morning, Isabel told herself to relax. Let him show her around the countryside. He’d soon realize he had no chance at all of her changing her mind. She’d simply treat it as an opportunity to see something of the area in the company of an attractive Italian man who knew his way around. And maybe finally meet some locals. Never mind the gorgeous Italian found nothing remotely attractive about her, especially her personality. That was his problem, not hers.
    By the time he arrived, she’d almost convinced herself she could treat him like her driver and nothing more. But then she saw the heads turn when his impressive car pulled up and he got out wearing khaki cargo pants and an expensive polo shirt that matched his eyes and did nothing to conceal the taut muscles in his arms.
    Before she could get up and go to meet him, he’d walked through the place like he owned it and taken a seat at her table. The waitress was scurrying to bring him a cup of coffee and a plate of fresh hot rolls. She was beaming at him as if he was her long-lost brother, and it seemed everyone in the place knew who he was and lost no time in either shaking hishand or putting their arms around him as if they hadn’t seen him for years.
    It was obvious he was not only part of a big family, he was part of a community as well. She felt a pang of envy. How long would it take for her to feel this way? She couldn’t wait for twenty-six generations to pass by.
    “Are you enjoying your stay?” he asked, his blue