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She heard the crunch of gravel and glanced up to see Marta standing at the edge of the garden watching her. She felt guilty, as if she’d been caught snooping. Marta stared at her until Isabel finally moved away.

That night she waited until the old woman had disappeared into her room before she began her search for the key to the storehouse. But without electricity she couldn’t see into the drawers or the backs of cupboards, so she decided to try again in the morning.

As she headed upstairs to bed, she wondered what Ren was doing. Probably making love with a beautiful signora from the village. The idea depressed her more than she wanted it to.

She leaned outside to open the shutters that Marta insisted on closing every night and saw the steady glow of incandescent light seeping through the slats covering the older woman’s window. Apparently not everyone in the farmhouse had lost electrical power.

She tossed and turned all night, obsessing about electricity and Ren and pretty Italian women. As a result, she didn’t awaken until nearly nine, once again throwing off her schedule. She took a quick shower and then, her frustration at the boiling point, called the villa and asked for him.

“Signore Gage is not available,” Anna said.

“Could you tell me what’s being done about my electricity?”

“It will be taken care of.” She broke the connection.

Isabel itched to charge up to the villa and confront him, but he was wily, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was trying to manipulate her. Look at the way he’d lured Jennifer Lopez into his evil clutches.

She hurried to the garden, filled a tub with soapy water, and marched off to catch a cat. If she didn’t keep busy, she would jump right out of her skin.

Ren reached into his pocket for his emergency cigarette, then realized he’d already smoked it, not a good sign, since it was barely eleven in the morning. He had to admit that she’d proved harder to manage than he’d figured. Maybe he should have taken into account the fact that she was a psychologist. But, damn it, he wanted her coming to him, not the other way around.

He could either wait her out, which he no longer had the patience for, or concede this round. The idea galled him, but in the long run what difference did it make? One way or another they were going to fulfill their sexual destiny.

He decided to take a walk in his olive grove. Just a casual walk. No big deal. If she happened to be in the garden, he’d say something like, Hey, Fifi, is that electricity problem all taken care of? It isn’t? Well, damn… Tell you what, why don’t you come up to the house with me, and we’ll talk to Anna together?

But luck wasn’t with him. All he saw in the garden was a trio of angry cats.

Maybe a shot of espresso and a newspaper would settle him down, although what he really wanted was another cigarette. As he climbed into his Maserati, visions of a red Fiat danced through his head. With a scowl, he shoved the key into the ignition and started down the drive.

He’d just reached the end when he saw her. He slammed on his brakes and jumped out. “What in the hell are you doing?”

She gazed up at him from underneath the brim of her straw hat. Despite her work gloves, she looked more dignified than a queen. “I’m picking up roadside litter.” She plopped an empty limonata bottle into the plastic sack she was carrying.

“Why in God’s name are you doing that?”

“Please don’t invoke God’s name in anger. She doesn’t like it. And litter is a blight on the environment, no matter what country it’s in.”

The gold bangle on her wrist glimmered in the sunlight as she reached into a clump of wild fennel for a crumpled cigarette wrapper. Her spotless white-on-white print top was tucked into a pair of trim, buff-colored shorts that showed off her shapely legs. All in all, she looked a little dressy for the litter squad.

He crossed his arms and gazed down at her, finally beginning to enjoy himself. “You don’t have a clue how to relax, do you?”

“Of course I know how to relax. This is very relaxing. It’s contemplative.”

“Contemplative, my ass. You’re strung so tight you twang.”

“Yes, well, not having even the most basic of modern conveniences could make anyone tense.”

He went into full Actors Studio-a blank stare followed by a nearly imperceptible widening of the eyes capped with a subtle frown. “Are you trying to tell me your electricity isn’t fixed? I don’t believe this. Damn it, I told Anna to take care of it. Why didn’t you let me know there was still a problem?”

They didn’t pay him the big bucks for nothing. She studied him for a moment and then bit. “I assumed you knew.”

“Thanks a lot. I guess that shows what you think of me.”

He should have quit while he was ahead, because her eyes narrowed with suspicion. He made a quick grab for his cell and placed a call to his housekeeper, deliberately speaking English.

“Anna, I’m talking to Isabel Favor, and there’s no electricity at the farmhouse. Get it fixed by the end of the day, will you? I don’t care what it costs.”

He disconnected and leaned against the side of the car. “That should take care of it. Let’s go for a drive while you’re waiting. I’ll check everything out when we get back to make sure it’s done.”

She hesitated, then turned her attention to his Maserati. “Okay, but I get to drive.”

“Forget it. You drove last time.”

“I like to drive.”

“So do I, and it’s my car.”

“You’ll speed.”

“Arrest me. Will you get in, for chrissake?”

“Blasphemy isn’t just a sacrilege,” she pointed out with what he regarded as an unnecessary degree of relish. “It’s the sign of someone’s having a limited command of the English language.”

“Whatever. And the reason you want to drive is that you like to control everything.”

“The world works better that way.”

Her deliberately smug smile made him chuckle. And she was probably right. If Dr. Favor were in charge of the world, at least it would be tidier.

“First you have to help me finish picking up this litter,” she said.

He started to tell her to forget it, because no woman on earth was worth this much aggravation, but then she bent over, and her trim little shorts molded to her hips, and the next thing he knew, he had a piece of tire tread in one hand and a broken beer bottle in the other.

He chose back roads that wound east past quaint farmhouses, then dipped into the valleys that held the vineyards of the Chianti region. Near Radda he donned a ball cap and his geek sunglasses as a quick disguise and made Isabel do the talking when they stopped at a small winery. The owner served them glasses of his ’99 reserve at a table that sat in the shade of a pomegranate tree.

At first no one in the small group of tourists at the other occupied table paid any attention to them, but then a young woman wearing silver earrings and a University of Massachusetts T-shirt began watching them. He braced himself when she rose from her chair, but as it turned out, his cap and glasses had done the job-he wasn’t the one she wanted.

“Excuse me. Aren’t you Dr. Isabel Favor?”

He felt an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness, but Isabel merely smiled and nodded.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” the woman said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I heard you speak when you came to UMass, and I have all your books. I just wanted you to know that you really helped me when I was having chemo.”

For the first time Ren noticed how thin the woman was, and pale. Something inside him tightened as he saw Isabel’s expression soften. He thought of the comments he received from his own fans. “Dude, me and my friends loved it when you pulled out that guy’s guts.”