The Best Man and The Wedding Planner. Teresa Carpenter

not going to lie to you. I’m leaning toward the pasta and wine tour. It goes to Venice. I’ve always wanted to go to Venice.”

      “Oh, yeah,” he mocked, “it’s all about Venice and nothing about the walking.”

      “Hey, I’m a walker. I love to hike. I’ll share some of my brochures with you. There are some really great tours. If you like history, there’s a Tuscan Renaissance tour that sounds wonderful.”

      “Sounds interesting. I’d like to see the brochures.”

      “Since technology is your thing, I’m surprised you’re so into history.”

      “I minored in history. What can I say? I’m from New England. You can’t throw a rock without hitting a historical marker. In my studies I was always amazed at how progressive our founding fathers were. Benjamin Franklin truly inspired me.”

      “You’re kidding.”

      “I’m not.” He sent her a chiding sidelong look. “I did my thesis on the sustainability of Franklin’s inventions and observations in today’s world. He was a brilliant man.”

      “And a great politician,” she pointed out.

      “I can’t deny that, but he didn’t let his political views define or confine him. I respect him for that. For him it wasn’t about power but about proper representation.”

      “I feel that way about most of our founding fathers. So tell me something I probably don’t know about big Ben.”

      “He was an avid swimmer.”

      “Like you and Antonio. Aha. No wonder you like him—” A huge yawn distorted the last word. “Oh.” She smothered it behind a hand. “Sorry.”

      “No need to apologize.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t feel you have to keep me company. Rest if you can. Jet lag can be a killer.”

      “Thanks.” He’d just given her the perfect out from having to make conversation for the next hour. She’d snap the offer up if she weren’t wide-eyed over the sights. Nothing in California rivaled the history and grandeur of the buildings still standing tall on virtually every street.

      Zach turned a corner and the breath caught in the back of Lindsay’s throat. Brunelleschi’s Dome filled the skyline in all its Gothic glory. She truly was in Italy. Oh, she wanted to play tourist. But it would have to wait. Work first.

      Riding across a beautiful, sculpted old bridge, she imagined the people who once crossed on foot. Soon rural views replaced urban views and in the distance clouds darkened the sky, creating a false twilight.

      Lindsay shivered. She hoped they reached Monte Calanetti before the storm hit. She didn’t care for storms, certainly didn’t want to get caught out in one. The turbulence reminded her of anger, the thunder of shouting. As a kid, she’d hated them.

      She didn’t bury her head under the covers anymore. But there were times she wanted to.

      Lightning flickered in the distance. Rather than watch the storm escalate, she closed her eyes as sleep claimed her. Her last thoughts were of Zach.

      * * *

      Lack of motion woke Lindsay. She opened her eyes to a dark car and an eerie silence. Zach was nowhere in view. Stretching, she turned around, looking for him. No sign. She squinted out the front windshield.

      Good gracious, was the hood open?

      She pushed her door open and stepped out, her feet crunching on gravel as a cool wind whipped around her. Hugging herself she walked to the front of the Land Rover. Zach was bent over the engine using a flashlight to ineffectually examine the vehicle innards. “What’s going on?”

      “A broken belt is my best guess.” He straightened and directed the light toward the ground between them. “I’ve already called the rental company. They’re sending a service truck.”

      She glanced around at the unrelenting darkness. Not a single light sparkled to show a sign of civilization. “Sending a truck where? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

      “They’ll find us. The vehicle has a GPS.”

      Relief rushed through her. “Oh. That’s good.” She’d had visions of spending the night on the side of the road in a storm-tossed tin can. “Did they say how long before they got here? Eee!” She started and yelped when thunder boomed overhead. The accompanying flash of lightening had her biting back a whimper to the metallic taste of blood.

      “As soon as they can.” He took her elbow and escorted her to the passenger’s-side door. “Let’s stay in the car. The storm looks like it’s about to break.”

      His big body blocked the wind, his closeness bringing warmth and rock-solid strength. For a moment she wanted to throw herself into his arms. Before she could give in to the urge, he helped her into her seat and slammed the door. A moment later he slid in next to her. He immediately turned the light off. She swallowed hard in a mouth suddenly dry.

      “Can we keep the light on?” The question came out in a harsh rasp.

      “I think we should conserve it, just in case.”

      “Just in case what?” It took a huge effort to keep any squeak out of her voice. “The truck doesn’t come?”

      “Just in case. Here—” He reached across the center console and took her hand, warming it in his. “You’re shaking. Are you cold?” He dropped her hand to reach behind him. “Take my jacket.”

      She leaned forward and the heavy weight of his suit jacket wrapped around her shoulders. The satin lining slid coolly over her skin but quickly heated up. The scent of Zach clung to the material and she found it oddly comforting.

      “Thank you. You won’t be cold?”

      She heard the rustle of movement and pictured him shrugging. “I’m okay right now. Hopefully the tow truck will get here before the cold seeps in. Worst case, we can move into the backseat and cuddle together under the jacket.”

      Okay, that option was way too tempting.

      “Or you could get another one out of your luggage.”

      His chuckle preceded another crash of thunder. “Pixie girl, I don’t know if my ego can survive you.”

      Maybe the dark wasn’t so bad since he hadn’t seen her flinch. Then his words struck her. “Pixie girl? That’s the second time you called me that.”

      “Yes. Short and feisty. You remind me of a pixie.”

      “I am average,” she stated with great dignity. “You’re a giant.”

      “You barely reach my shoulder.”

      “Again, I refer you to the term ‘giant.’” She checked her phone, welcoming the flare of light, but they were in the Italian version of Timbuktu so of course there was no service.

      “Uh-huh. Feisty, pretty and short. Pixie it is.”

      Pretty? He’d called her that before, too. Pleasure bolstered her drooping spirits. She almost didn’t care when the light faded again. Not that his admission changed her feelings toward him. He was a dangerous, charming man but she didn’t have to like him just because he thought she was pretty. He was still off limits.

      Hopefully he took her silence as disdain.

      Right. On the positive side, the bit of vanity served to distract her for a few minutes. Long enough for headlights to appear on the horizon. No other vehicles had passed them in the twenty minutes she’d been awake so she said a little prayer that the approaching headlights belonged to their repair truck.

      “Is the repair service coming from Monte Calanetti? How far away do you think we are?” She feared the thought of walking, but she didn’t want to stay in the car all night, either.

      “We’re