SAVANNAH

The next morning, paparazzi were everywhere as we boarded Dante's sleek, twenty-seven-foot Riva yacht at the Amalfi marina. Both of us refused to answer the reporters' shouted questions, but I couldn't help but smile when I heard one query tossed into the din.

"How was your first night as an engaged couple?"

If only they knew.

We'd spent every hour together, only leaving the bedroom when Dante made us a quick dish of pasta. Even that was a pleasant surprise—I'd expected him to have a chef, or drink only protein shakes, or command me to make something. I hadn't anticipated a delicious plate of spaghetti with fresh tomato, basil, and mozzarella. After dinner, we drank a little wine—decadently, in bed—and then we ravished each other again. And again.

Never did I imagine that a man would be capable of giving me that much pleasure, or that one would want to kiss and touch and lick me in all those places. I'd let him do whatever he wanted. It felt too amazing to deny myself.

Truth be told, we didn't get much sleep at all, but I felt awake. Alive. Electric.

Dante winked at me as he started up the motor. It was a sleek wooden 1960s-era boat, and it positively oozed European cool. As we glided away from land, he leaned over to give me a kiss, and I held onto my wide-brimmed straw hat and laughed into the wind. It was as if I was a movie star, sitting on a luxury yacht next to my Italian lover. Like Sophia Loren, but with red hair and minus the sexpot attitude.

Once we cleared the no-wake zone, he bore down on the throttle and the boat surged forward. I yelped at the sudden acceleration, then looked to him.

"You okay with this?" he shouted, deftly steering the boat.

"More than okay. I suspect you're a pretty capable driver."

He accelerated again and the boat roared forward. Maybe he was trying to find out if I loved speed, and he was getting his answer, because I let out a good Southern whoop into the salt spray.

I took off my hat, stuffed it in my bag, and stood, the wind slicking back my hair, the splash from the water misting my chest as we bounced over the small waves. I was wearing only a dark-blue bikini top and matching blue swim shorts. If Dante had thought he was getting a glamorous bathing beauty today, he was out of luck.

When it seemed like we were in the middle of the Mediterranean—I suspected we were a mile or so off the coast, well away from the paparazzi—he stopped and the yacht skimmed into its own wave, eventually stilling in the sea. He turned and studied me for a second, and the lust-filled look in his eyes made me bashful. I gripped the aluminum rail with sweaty hands.

"Come here."

I obeyed.

He wrapped his arms around me and claimed my mouth, kissing me with that familiar hunger. He squeezed my ass and nuzzled my neck. "You look so gorgeous. These little shorts you're wearing are driving me insane. And the way these bounced when we were going fast," he whispered, cupping my breasts. "That's why I had to stop. To kiss you. And touch you."

My breath caught. There he was, doing it again. Turning me on with only a few sexy words and a scorching kiss. Was this for real? I hoped it was. I ran my hands under his shirt, feeling the ridges and muscles of his back. His body really was something, a product of years of intense physical conditioning.

I'd been drunk with lust for him ever since our all-nighter. In fact, if he wanted to take me right here in the boat in the middle of the water, that would be fine by me.

His mouth captured mine again, and we made out long enough for me to feel flushed—and not from the Italian sun.

"This isn't our final destination today." He smoothed my hair back and turned away, leaving me bereft of his touch. The boat engine roared to life, the sound evaporating in the vast blue water.

For several long minutes we sped, and I wondered where we were headed. Soon, we arrived at another point along the coastline, and he pulled alongside a small marina.

As Dante tied up the yacht and sprang onto the dock, an old man hobbled toward us and said something in Italian. He held a small cooler in one hand.

Dante responded, laughing and speaking fast. He turned to me and helped me onto the dock. "Come. We're doing this so we can have a private day together and avoid all press."

We followed the man, who led us to an adjacent rocky beach. Then he pointed at a long kayak and set the cooler in the space between the seats.

"You sit in front," Dante pointed.

"I didn't take you for a kayak kind of guy."

He laughed. "Why?"

"Let's see, I've seen you in yachts, limos, Ferraris, private jets, and the most expensive Formula World car. That's why."

Shrugging, he handed me an oar. "I like any kind of physical activity and I usually love speed. But sometimes it's nice to slow down every once in a while, no?"

He waggled his eyebrows, and I knew he was referring to how he'd entered me this morning with a maddening, deliberate thrust.

I climbed in and he tossed his sandals in the kayak. Then he pushed the little boat into the water and got in. For such a muscular, powerful guy, he was agile. Graceful, even.

"Let's see how well the American beauty queen can row."

I turned and shot him a defiant look. "I'll have you know I've kayaked through swamps in Georgia. With alligators."

I loved his laugh.

We soon settled into a rhythm, paddling in perfect sync through the water.

"You're an impressive kayaker, Savannah Jenkins," he called out. "Never would've guessed that a debutante could paddle like a pro."

His little jabs no longer annoyed me. I held the paddle over my head in triumph, then lowered it and sliced through the water.

It was a little more strenuous than what I was used to back home; we were in the choppier Mediterranean Sea, after all, and not a placid swamp.

"Savannah, stop rowing."

I allowed the kayak's oar to rest on the sides of the boat.

Not wanting to twist to look at him for fear of capsizing the little vessel, I sat motionless. The water was deep blue, hugged by rocky cliffs. Italy was so different from where I was from back in the States, but I was falling in love with the Amalfi Coast with every passing minute.

The boat rocked gently, and Dante put a hand on my shoulder. He dangled a red bandanna down my chest.

"What's this? Are we pretending to be pirates?"

I heard him laugh as I took the strip of fabric. "You are so weird sometimes, Savannah."

"Weird girls are good."

"I'm beginning to find that out, cara mia. Put that over your eyes and don't bother rowing. I want it to be a surprise where I'm taking you."

I'd noticed that since we'd arrived in Amalfi, his voice had taken on a kinder, softer tone. He was closer to that man I'd seen in the burn unit in Montreal.

I drank in the terrain for a few more seconds. The clear aqua water was the last thing I focused on before placing the bandanna across my eyes and tying it at the back of my head.

My hearing sharpened, and the sounds of Dante's oar skimming and splashing through the water, along with the slight wind in my face, told me he was propelling us forward. I leaned back in the little padded seat, enjoying the sun on my cheeks, the smell of salt, the awareness that he was in control.

After several blissful minutes, the sun and warmth faded. They were replaced by cool air. My skin formed goosebumps from the temperature change. The boat stopped moving and it bobbed in the water.

"Where are we?" For some reason, my voice and ensuing laugh echoed.

Dante's palm splayed across my back, and warmth flooded my body despite the cool temperature.

"Let's get this off so you can see where we are." His hands were at the back of my head, untying the bandanna. Once it was loose, I snatched it from my face and gasped.

We were in a grotto filled with the most stunning electric-blue water I'd ever seen.

When my eyes adjusted, I saw there were recessed floodlights both underwater and in the rock crevices. The illuminations made the water shimmer with an otherworldly blue hue.

Stunned, I swiveled my head cautiously.

"We're the only ones in here," I whispered, not wanting to shatter the silence.

"My family knows the people who run the tour groups into these grottoes. I called ahead and they cleared the afternoon for us. Got everything ready. The man at that dock is in charge of this place."

The water was so still, the silence so peaceful, to the point where tears pricked my eyelids. I wanted to twist and throw my arms around Dante but worried that if I did, the kayak would tip.

"Oh my God, Dante."

"Do you like it?"

He was rowing again, slowly guiding us toward a low, flat rock ledge.

I took it all in, astonished. "Like it? No, I love it. It's magical."

***

DANTE 

She couldn't see my huge smile as I eased the boat parallel to the rock, expertly tying the kayak to an iron clamp bolted into the stone. With precise balance—thank God for my yoga training as part of my fitness routine—I stood up in the kayak and stepped onto the rock.

I held the boat steady and she gracefully stood, then joined me. She looked around and spoke in a hushed tone.

"Seriously. It's so beautiful that I think I could cry."

I wrapped an arm around her and kissed her temple. My heartbeat, normally a slow resting rate because I was such a conditioned athlete, was erratic and fast. I realized I'd actually been nervous about showing her the grotto, anxious to find out if she loved it as much as I did.

I'd had a feeling she would enjoy this, and I wanted to punch the air as if I'd won a race when I realized I was right. This was hallowed ground as far as I was concerned, and I hadn't ever shared it with anyone.

"I used to come here with Gabriella. My sister. We'd swim here as kids and later, we visited the week before the Monza race. But after she died, I've come every year, alone. This is the first time I've brought anyone."

Savannah leaned her head on my shoulder and hugged me. "Why didn't you bring any girlfriends here?"

"What can I say? I don't know. I didn't think any of them would appreciate it. Savannah, I'm ashamed to admit this, but most of the women I've been with are more interested in the bling of diamonds and the lights of nightclubs."

"Whatever happens between us, I'm glad you gave me this memory. It's like a fairy tale come to life."

Maybe this won't be the last time we come here together. I shoved the surprising thought out of my mind, because of course I was only bringing her here because we were like buddies. Friends who happened to be indulging in great sex.

I extracted the cooler from the kayak and laid out the spread of cheese, prosciutto, bread, and grapes. And a bottle of sparkling water.

We spent the next hour or so eating and talking. And while it did occur to me to try to make love to her in this secluded spot, I was enjoying our conversation too much. Which was a first for me; usually I wanted women around for one thing.

"Why did you give up pageants?" I asked, feeding her a grape. "You're gorgeous. You could have been a model."

She swirled a foot in the grotto's blue water.

"You really want to know why?"

"I do."

"Two reasons. One, my mother. She was the epitome of a pushy pageant mom. Yeah, like the ones you see on that reality TV show."

I blinked. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"She was obnoxiously competitive and was trying to mold me in her image. It caused a lot of fights, and it drove me to hang out with my dad. I was sick of her making me feel guilty for not choosing her preferred hobby. My brother was older and a semi-pro motorcyclist, so he was doing his own thing. I was expected to excel like my brother did, only in a more feminine pursuit. But I wanted to stop fighting with my mom, so I quit altogether."

"Seems reasonable. But difficult. What's the other reason?"

"It was fake." She sighed. "Too fake. For a while I thought I'd use my pageant platform to shed light on the problems of my state or the world. You know, during the interview portion of the show? But I'd answer the questions with some thoughtful, intelligent commentary about poverty or politics and the judges didn't care. Not one bit. The judges wanted pretty, compliant girls with hot bodies and big hair. I didn't want to be obedient anymore."

She held a hint of apprehension in her eyes, probably expecting me to say something flippant about her body or her looks.

"You were too smart for that," I replied. "You're not a product. You're a human being."

She tilted her head and a smile spread across her face. "I'm a little surprised, Dante Annunziata."

"Why's that?" I plucked a grape and popped it in my mouth.

"Because at times you seem like such a chauvinist. Like when I first came to the team. You didn't want me on the track. Still don't, I can tell."

"That's different."

"How? You think I'm a human being but not one capable of being in motorsports?"

I cleared my throat. "It's not that simple, cara mia."

She let out a low growl. "It is if you allow it to be. Come on, Dante. Come into the twenty-first century. The water's warm. We feminists won't take away your manhood. Promise."

I didn't respond. For a moment, panic seized my chest, like how I'd felt when Gabriella was taken off life support in the burn unit. There wasn't anything I could have done for my sister, but a primal need to keep Savannah safe came over me and I reached for her hand.

"Tell me more about the competition and why you left."

She shrugged. "The pageant organizers didn't care about us as people. They knew that many of the girls had eating disorders. And sometimes they'd joke about it. It made me hate them. I realized that all of us were trying so hard to fit into a stereotype, an idea. It was unhealthy. We were being used to perpetuate that stereotype of femininity. I hated being used and manipulated. It was the worst feeling in the world."

I shook my head, trying to get Gabriella out of my mind.

"Do you understand?"

"I guess I do. I never thought about it that way. I thought most girls, oh, women liked to look feminine and be seen as pretty all the time. That they'd all want to be in a beauty pageant."

She blew out a breath and spoke slowly, as if I wasn't quite capable of understanding. "It's not that we don't want to look pretty. Some of us, most of us, want to do it on our own terms. We don't want society to tell us that we need to look a certain way. Pageants perpetuate that attitude, that all women should have big hair and big boobs and tiny hips. That we should all strive for the same look."

"But you don't look that way."

She arched an eyebrow.

"I mean, you're gorgeous but you're unique."

"I'm unique because I choose to be. Quite a difference from your other lovers, no?"

I dipped my legs in the water. Savannah had a way of going straight into the facts. I wasn't used to such direct conversations. "I dunno. I confess that I haven't ever had a long-term relationship. I've been devoted to the sport, so women are more for sating my physical needs."

"You've never been in love?"

I rubbed a hand over my head. "I don't . . . I guess . . ."

She laughed and the charming sound echoed off the grotto walls. "No need to continue. I already know the answer is no."

"I'm not ruling out a relationship in the future, though."

"No?"

"It might be nice to find someone who I could travel with after I retire, someone I could enjoy life with and share things with. I haven't met the right woman yet, I guess. I think it's going to be pretty lonely once I retire. My dad's been hounding me to align with another team as a consultant, but I don't know if I want to be around racing that closely once I'm not in the driver's seat. Having a girlfriend, or a wife, could help me settle down." I kicked my foot through the water, sending a spray into the air. "Or maybe not. I don't know. I'm always wary because of my parents' relationship."

"Yeah, I noticed that your mom and dad came to different races, alone. How long have they been divorced?"

A snort escaped my mouth. "They've lived separately for years."

"I wondered about their relationship, from something your mother said to me. Are divorces hard to get in Italy or . . ." Her face contorted in confusion.

"They're stubborn and seemingly enjoy both hating each other and making each other miserable. My father has had multiple affairs, and my mother is a bit of a martyr, and it's a big mess. I hate being in the middle."

"I'm sorry." Her voice was soft. "No wonder you're wary. And why you don't know if you want to settle down after you retire."

Even the word retire sent a chill through me. "One swim before we head back?" I asked, eager to change the subject.

She sprang to her feet and pointed. "How about I race you to the other side? To that rock ledge over there."

I stood. "What do I get if I win?"

She leaned over and whispered in my ear, describing a certain position we'd been in early that morning. "You know, the one where I was on top of you but turned around, instead of facing you? The one where you said you loved looking at my butt?"

Oh, yes. That one. I felt my dick stiffen. "Sounds like a reasonable bet."

We dove into the blue water at the same time, and I powered forward, knowing there was no loser in this competition.