The view took her breath away. It was the same every time—the initial disbelief that anything could be that beautiful, then the dizzying pleasure that it was real. The gardens were far below, vivid, delightful in color. Whoever had planted them, whoever tended them, appreciated the need for flowers to grow as they pleased, rather than in neat, orderly rows. The result was dreamlike rather than perfection.

Beyond the garden was the seawall, worn smooth by centuries of wind and salt. The cliff fell off sharply then, sheerly vertical with juts and mounds of rocks for seabirds to nest in. Then there was the sea itself, dark, deep, radiantly blue. Boats glided across it now.

She saw a boat with red sails racing with the wind, and a pleasure yacht so white it hurt the eyes. Someone was waterskiing. She squinted to see if it was a man or woman, but distance made the figure just a figure skimming along the searing blue surface. Enchanted, she knelt on the window seat, propped her chin on her hands and continued to watch.

The knock at her door meant her bags had arrived. Half dreaming, Eve stayed where she was. “Entrez, s’il vous plâit.”

“It’s been arranged for you to have a maid.”

Alexander’s voice had her jolting straight and nearly losing her balance on the window seat. “Oh, thank you, but it really isn’t necessary.”

Alexander murmured to the servant to set her bags down and leave. “She can deal with your unpacking at your convenience. Her name is Collette. She won’t disturb you until you ring.”

“Thank you.”

“You look tired.” Without the jacket, she looked more fragile, more approachable, almost as if she were a woman he could sit with, talk with, be only a man with. He wanted to smooth the hair from her brow, gently, even tenderly. His hands curled at his sides. “You might want to rest first.”

“No, I’m not tired really. I’ve just been hypnotizing myself with the view.”

She waited for him to leave, but instead he crossed to her, drawing the curtains aside a little more. “I have the same view from my window.”

“I suppose you’re used to it, then. I don’t think I’d ever be.”

“Early, just after dawn, the fishing boats go out.” He rested his hand on the sill beside hers. Eve’s gaze was drawn to it, to the long, tanned fingers, the wide back and the ring that stated who and what he was. “They look so fragile, yet they go out day after day.”

His hands fascinated her. They had touched her once, not gently but potently. There was strength in them a woman could rely on, as well as a strength to be feared. She wondered why at the moment she should feel only the first.