Page 67 of Broken Crown

I laughed despite myself, the sound carried away by the wind. "Touché."

The village of Chieti appeared, a vision from another century, perched on a hilltop with old stone buildings the color of honey and amber. Terra-cotta roofs created a patchwork of russet orange against the pale winter sky.

The medieval stone absorbed what little warmth the November sun offered, glowing with a golden luminescence that belied the biting cold of the shadows where frost refused to surrender its grip. A church bell tolled in the distance, the sound impossibly clear in the crystalline mountain air.

Sebastian navigated the narrow cobblestone streets with practiced ease, the powerful car seeming almost comically out of place among the medieval architecture.

He pulled into a small private courtyard, walled on three sides with flowering winter jasmine and witch hazel that climbed over a half-tumbled-down wall. The unexpected blooms defied the season, their delicate yellow petals trembling in the cold breeze, releasing a subtle fragrance.

The moment he shut off the engine, the silence was profound, broken only by the distant sound of church bells.

"We're here." He dropped his sunglasses in the center console then exited the car and came around to my side before I could reach for the door.

Sebastian extended his hand, and reluctantly, I placed mine in his.

His fingers closed around mine, warm and strong, as he helped me from the car. He didn't release me immediately, instead using our joined hands to pull me closer until we stood mere inches apart.

The controlled strength in that simple gesture sent a frisson of anticipation over me. One sharp tug and I was in his orbit, the magnetic pull between our bodies undeniable.

"Cold?" His breath clouded the air between us.

The word caressed my face, warm and intimate in the frosty air.

"I'm fine." I wasn't. Every nerve ending was alive with awareness of him.

My nipples tightened painfully against the constraints of my bra, the peaks hardening in a reaction that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the dangerous proximity of his body to mine.

His free hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb tracing over my lower lip in a touch so light it might have been my imagination. "Your lips say otherwise. They're turning blue."

I pulled back from his touch. "Maybe you shouldn't have insisted on the convertible in November."

"And miss seeing you with your hair wild from the wind? Worth it."

From the trunk, he retrieved a wicker basket and a leather satchel. The basket emanated enticing aromas that made my stomach growl audibly.

Sebastian smirked. "Hungry?"

"Starving, actually." I hadn't eaten breakfast, too nervous about this mysterious trip to manage more than a cappuccino.

"Good. Follow me."

He led me through an arched doorway and up a narrow staircase that wound around the exterior of what appeared to be a small tower. Each step was worn in the center from centuries of use, smooth depressions that testified to the age of this place.

My fingers traced the rough-hewn stone of the wall as we climbed, the surface cold and gritty beneath my touch, embedded with tiny fossils and minerals that caught the light like scattered diamonds.

Every few steps brought a different draft of air—here warm and yeasty from a bakery, there sharp with the tang of curing meat, all mingling with the ever-present undercurrent of mountain air.

At the top, he pushed open a heavy wooden door to reveal a private rooftop terrace. The view was staggering—rolling hills, the distant mountains, and the medieval village spread out below us.

"Sebastian…"Moving toward the balustrade, words escaped me.

"I told you you'd like it."

His smug satisfaction should have annoyed me.

Instead, I found myself smiling as I took in the panorama. "It's incredible."

He set the basket and satchel on a rustic wooden table that had been prepared for our arrival. A bottle of wine was already chilling in an ice bucket, and someone had arranged fresh winter flowers in a simple earthenware vase.