Realizing she'd upset his ego, she reached across the table and touched his hand. "You were put through hell less than a month ago, spent a week in aftercare, and between packing the house and going to the wedding, you haven't really been taking it easy like Doctor McKenzie ordered. I think I'm amazed you aren't a zombie at this point." She squeezed his hand. "But if you play your cards right, I'll let you make up for lost time tonight."

He grinned. "Grazie." But soon he grew serious again. After a pause, he said, "It's just that, as your Dom, it was my responsibility to meet your needs."

She brushed the pad of her thumb across his knuckles. "Marc, sometimes the Dom needs to remember the submissive's major need in the dynamic, which is to serve her Dom and to take care of his needs."

He didn't say anything but picked up a slice of bread and broke off a piece before placing it against her lips. He had a major problem with letting her know he even had needs. Was he trying to silence her by keeping her mouth full? He pressed harder against her lips until she opened to let him put the bread inside her mouth.

"Marc-" Once she opened her mouth, he placed the bread inside.

"Be a good girl. Don't talk with your mouth full. Chew."

She glared at him but did as he told her. The focaccia was to die for, and she took her time enjoying it. They had such a long way to go in learning to communicate with each other, but she hoped they still had lots of time to improve.

He grew serious and reached into his pocket. Her heart stopped beating. Was he going to...? His hand stilled a moment before he pulled it back out. Empty.

Silly girl.

What was the matter with her? The romantic ambiance of this place was making her daft. He probably just wanted to make sure he'd put her sash away in his pocket. Still, who could blame her for thinking something was up? He'd gone to such extremes to take her out for nothing but dinner.

When his gaze met hers again, she saw pain, reminding her of the haunted look he bore in the days following the interrogation. Angelina reached across the table. "What is it, Marc?"

The longer he stared at her in silence, the more worried she became. Something was wrong.

Marc grabbed her hand and held it firmly between his. "Amore, I have a confession I must make before we go any further."

No, don't you dare spoil this moment, Marc!

Improved communication had its place; this wasn't that place! She wanted to remain immersed in this perfect fantasy, leaving their troubles behind them. Hadn't he toasted their future only moments ago? She reminded herself he wouldn't go to all this trouble only to break up. So why did she feel she was hurtling along on the downhill side of a roller coaster?

"I must be honest with you about some things from my past, things I'm just beginning to understand myself."

Wait! Marc wanted to divulge some of his secrets? Now this had been a fantasy of hers for a long while. She washed down the piece of bread with a gulp of wine.

"Before you say anything more, Marc, just know that nothing you say will change how I feel about you. But I'm honored you trust me enough to share whatever it is that's on your mind."

He didn't smile. Dread seeped back into her bones. What on earth did he need to divulge?

"The interrogation brought up some things I buried a very long time ago. Buried out of shame and disgust, no doubt." Marc looked down at their clasped hands and drew a deep breath. His hand shook, and Angelina squeezed it tightly.

"I used to be a poser Dom. The cougars at the resort referred to me as Master Marco." He paused before meeting her gaze again. "I won't lie to you. There was a time when the title went to my head. But after training under Adam before we opened the club, I knew I was a master at nothing."

She felt as if she were peering into his soul. Her heart ached at the insecurity she saw there. How could he think he wasn't a Dom? He certainly had no problem dominating her.

"Even now, I'm not sure I can be the Dom you need."

She'd held her words back long enough, holding up her hand to halt any argument. "Marc, don't you dare try to shut me up. I hate those bitches-and, no I'm not sorry for calling them that-who took advantage of a trusting, vulnerable young man. Makes me wish they were here right now so I could pull out every hair on their heads-and then I'd start on their short hairs."

She paused long enough to take a deep breath and relax her hand's grip, which must have removed all circulation from his. Taking another deep, calming breath, she reached up to stroke his cheek. "Marc, your past with those women has nothing to do with you being a Dom, authentic or otherwise. You were a natural Dominant without even being aware of it. Oh, I've watched you lately trying to catch yourself from going all Dominant on me twenty-four/seven-asking what my preference might be for something or including me in decisions involving both of us in a significant way. That's fine. We don't have or want that kind of dynamic. And, while I appreciate you seeking my input, look at what you did tonight. You ordered wine and dinner for me knowing what I would enjoy and wanting to share a special dish from your homeland." She pointed to what was left of the veal dish. "And I know this is a favorite dish in Lombardy, because I've been paying careful attention to the cuisine of this...that region so I can learn to make those dishes for you."

Once she got started, there was no stopping her. "Look at how you took command of me on this date. The blindfold, the headphones, those were just props. You were the one exerting your authority over me, causing that excitement I feel only under your hand. The Dominant in you took charge of me from the time I stepped out of the shower today...yesterday, oh whatever day it was."

She glanced around, realizing she was speaking rather loudly, but no one seemed the least bit interested in her passionate conversation with Marc, because they all seemed to be having heated discussions of their own. Dio love expressive Italians.

She turned her attention to Marc once more. "No matter how either of us became interested in kink, all that matters is that we find what works for us. We set our own limits, our own preferences. I'm not comparing you to any other Doms-as if I could-and you shouldn't compare me to any other submissives."

Marc's lips curved into a tentative smile. "I assure you, no other sub comes even close to comparing to you." He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her palm, all but melting her panties. "I thank you for bringing out the natural Dom in me, because I know what I feel with you is my first taste of dominance. Exerting authority over you excites me and makes me work harder at being a more competent Dom."

Angelina leaned forward and whispered, "You're making me wet, Sir." The look of longing on his face made her smile and relish the power she had over him, as well. She couldn't wait to get to wherever he planned for them to sleep tonight. "Just know that I place myself in your hands knowing and trusting you will keep me safe and see to my needs. Trust requires nurturing and maintenance, but you know you..."

Marc held up a hand and paused her words. "You showed me you have my back by standing up to Adam and seeing to my needs during and after the interrogation."

"How did you know-?"

"Adam told me during aftercare. As you know, I don't trust women easily-but you are in a class by yourself." He leaned closer, and she did the same. "Just don't expect me ever to bottom for you again. I'm the Dom in this relationship." He leaned back in his chair. "I plan to continue to grow into being the best Dom I can be for you as we come to know each other better."

"You are the only man I would ever consider as my Dom."

Marc's moss-green eyes shone brightly in the candlelight. She couldn't tell if she'd convinced him yet, but as soon as they left here...

After they declined dessert-she couldn't eat another bite-the server set the check on the table. They sat back in their seats, both breathing a little more heavily. She hoped they were headed somewhere she could express how much this man meant to her.

Marc pulled out his wallet and placed his credit card on the tray. She glanced at the bill, hoping to glean some information about the name or location of the restaurant, but Marc slid the card over the header, blocking the information from view.

"Why so secretive? I thought you were all about revealing secrets today."

"Your Dom will let you know when you need to know. Anticipation is good for you."

She smiled. "I like the sound of that 'your Dom.'"

"Maybe you should get used to it." He smiled, more relaxed than he'd been most of the meal. After settling the bill, Marc pushed his chair back, picked up the headphones, and stood. "Come, let's walk off some of this dinner before we head to our ho...go home."

Angelina smiled at his near slip-up. "Sounds perfect."

He scooted her chair back, slipped her hand into his, and led her toward the entrance. Thank goodness he didn't pull out the sash again. She was anxious to get a first glimpse of wherever he had brought her.

When he opened the door, a chilly breeze whipped inside, and she folded her arms over her chest against the cold.

"Wait here."

Marc exited the restaurant, closing the door behind him. She looked around the foyer and remembered the promise to ask about having a peek inside the kitchen, but Marc must have been distracted by their conversation and forgotten.

The door opened again, and he came inside carrying her shawl. She turned around and let him wrap it around her. He enfolded her in his arms, pressed her against his hard body, and placed a kiss on her neck. Now she had chill bumps for a different reason.

"Thank you, Sir. This is just what I needed."

Marc gave her a mysterious smile. "Am I not supposed to anticipate my girl's needs? Now, let's walk."

He took her hand in his, and they left the restaurant. The brightness of the day surprised her until she remembered where she was. When Angelina stumbled on the uneven brick sidewalk, Marc grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling face forward. He kept his arm there and pulled her closer, just where she wanted to be.

"Tell me where you are, bella."

Knowing he wasn't asking her to ground herself in the moment for a scene, she glanced at the mostly two-story stucco buildings painted in yellows and tans and trimmed in stone. She still wasn't certain if they were in Tuscany or Lombardy, until she spied a traffic sign ahead. Milano, 82 Km. Angelina halted.

"Lombardy?"

He grinned broadly. "S. Welcome to the comune of Brescia, amore, my homeland."

Marc had brought her to his hometown to show her where he'd grown up? Now this was significant. That he'd trust her enough to share the experience meant a lot to her.

"Tell me, when did you really figure out you were in Italy at least?"

"Well, that was a very long flight, but when you had me speaking to someone in Italian..."

Marc sighed. "I hated that he spoiled my surprise but figured that would tip you off."

"Why did you...I mean, I love that you did...but how did you...?" Would she ever be able to string together a lucid question?

"I needed to explore more of my past after the interrogation. I needed some answers. This time, I wanted you beside me. I regretted so many times you weren't with me in February, even though your voice often coached me to breathe and relax. But I'd much rather have you here in the flesh this time."

Angelina wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. "Thank you, Sir, for including me. I told you before I didn't want an Italian vacation, but only to be with you and help you deal with whatever you found."

"Well, this time, you'll get a bit of both. Our pilots have taken a few days off-Gunnar said something about a delivery he needed to make in Pakistan for some Afghan region near the border."

"Gunnar! I knew I recognized that voice!" Her jaw dropped in a delayed response. "You mean the border with Afghanistan?"

"I had the same reaction, but apparently he does regular drops for some humanitarian organization he keeps supplied. He hooked up with them while deployed with the Army a few years back."

Marc reached out and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. "Anyway, we have almost four days before we fly home, and I have every intention of giving you the two-cent tour of my homeland."

His eyes grew shuttered. "I must warn you, though, I'm also here to uncover more of my past, perhaps even reveal more secrets."

She wrapped her arm around his neck and drew him closer to her face before planting a kiss on his cheek. "I'm here. We can face whatever it is together."

"Come. There's a place I want to explore with you." His 'with you' won her over. They walked on, hand in hand, until he paused at a corner and glanced around. "This way," he decided, and they turned toward the left. She wondered what he was searching for.

"Wait!" She halted him. "I need to call Mama! She'll wonder where I've disappeared to if I don't show up for that long."

"No worries. I spoke with Rafe. He will inform her of your whereabouts."

Her eyes opened wider. "You and Rafe are talking again?" Her brothers had pitched a fit when she moved back in with Marc, blaming him for nearly breaking her heart and letting her know in no uncertain terms they would take care of him if he hurt her again. "How'd that come about?"

"I just called and asked to speak with him about a matter of great importance."

When he didn't elaborate but continued to walk down the residential street, she was left wondering what it might be. Marc probably just wanted to smooth the waters with her brothers before moving into her house next week. They'd be seeing a lot of him in the future so having them at least on speaking terms would ease some of the tension-and testosterone posturing.

A block later, he made another turn. The farther they walked, the tighter he gripped her hand. His steps became more sure, and then he halted. She noticed his puzzled expression and then followed his gaze to a small house with a tiny porch.

"It's not as I remember it."

"What is this place?"

He took a deep breath. "This is where Gino and I took refuge many, many times. In my mind, it was such an enormous house."

Angelina remembered the slideshow at the anniversary party for his parents. This was the house Mama's friend lived in.

Before she could say anything, he walked inside the open gate and guided her up the stairs to the door. He knocked and waited.

Angelina whispered, "Are you sure we won't be bothering them?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure whoever lives here will understand. I need to see something."

"Surely nothing inside will be familiar after all these years."

"I just have this feeling there's something in this house that holds a key for me."

Dio, she hoped so. This seemed important to him. She didn't want to see him disappointed. Angelina gave his hand a comforting squeeze, which he returned. She forced herself to relax against him hoping he would take comfort from her.

The door opened to reveal a wizened old woman dressed in a black dress with a white shawl. The old woman ignored Angelina but scrutinized Marc more closely. "Marco?"

Marc seemed to take forever to respond, but he spoke in her language when he did.

"How did you know, Mrs. Milanesi?"

Angelina gasped, remembering the name from the interrogation scene as someone he'd expressed guilt over injuring by leaving his toys on the floor.

She stepped back and motioned them inside. "Come in out of the cold. We'll talk."

Chapter Thirty-Two.

Marc remembered her instantly, whether it was the delicious aromas emanating from her kitchen or the sound of her voice. Her toothless smile transformed her into a much younger-looking woman, more like the face he remembered. She had always smiled, well almost always. He hadn't expected her to be alive, much less living in the same house.

With tears shimmering in her already rheumy eyes, Mrs. Milanesi reached up with both hands. Marc bent to kiss her on both cheeks. When she motioned them to enter again, Marc hesitated, unable to take that first step. Angelina squeezed his arm and whispered, "I'm here, Marc. We can do this together."

He glanced down at the woman he'd grown to love more than life itself and breathed deeply. Patting the hand on his forearm, he smiled. "Grazie."

Going from bright sunlight into the darkened room, he blinked while waiting for the past to slowly come into focus. He introduced Mrs. Milanesi to Angelina and they kissed European style as Marc scanned the room for anything he might recognize.

Like so much of his past, what he remembered of Mrs. Milanesi came from what Gino had told him about his childhood rather than actual memories, except for those bubbling up since the interrogation scene. Gino often referred to her as Mrs. M or their babysitter. She had been the subject of many a tale from Gino as he tried to paint a picture of a happy childhood for the brothers amidst all the drama and pain surrounding them during those early years. By the time they'd emigrated, though, Gino spoke of her rarely.

Angelina made small talk in her formal Italian while the older woman used her Brescian dialect, but they seemed to understand each other. Trying to regroup, Marc glanced around the room. Surprisingly, not a lot had changed. Yes, the furnishings had been modernized, but the religious pictures on the walls were familiar in some strange way. He somehow knew he and Gino hadn't spent a lot of time in the parlor.