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kissed her. And she was hot and sweet and made him dizzy with need.
    She broke the kiss with a gasp and stared up at him, her eyes burning with equal parts righteous anger and desire. “Did you feel that?”
    He stared back. “ Sí .”
    She nodded. “And did you ever feel that with Agustina? Have you ever felt anything like that with anyone before?”
    He looked at her. “No,” he said roughly.
    “Exactly,” she whispered.
    And she kissed him again.

Chapter Nine
    N oni woke the next morning to a note on her pillow:
    Niña, I went to fetch breakfast. Your refrigerator is a disgrace.
    —E
    She smiled to herself and rolled over in bed, stretching extravagantly. She felt a delicious soreness all through her body. After she had thoroughly kissed Enzo last night, demanding that he acknowledge what was between them, he had swept her into his arms, carried her back to her bed, and made love to her again for hours. It had been almost hallucinogenic in its intensity. He had teased out reactions from her that she didn’t even realize she was capable of.
    She got out of bed, slipped on her robe, and headed down the hall into the kitchen. Maybe she only had a six-pack of beer and an ancient jar of dill pickles in her fridge, but she knew that she most definitely had a bag of coffee beans in her freezer and figured the least she could do was make a fresh pot before Enzo returned.
    She froze as she entered her kitchen, looking around, confused. It was…clean. Immaculate, actually. Every surface sparkling in a way that it hadn’t since she had first moved into the place.
    She sniffed. Lemon cleanser and—yes, there it was—coffee. A full pot, already waiting for her.
    She poured herself a cup and wandered into the living room, bemused to find that it had also been made spotless. She looked into her bathroom and office and was mortified to see that it looked like a professional maid had swept through.
    “What time did he even get up?” she muttered to herself as she gazed at the neatly stacked papers and mail on her dining room table. It had been months since she’d seen some of the surfaces he had unearthed and then apparently wiped down and dusted. The only room that hadn’t been cleaned was her bedroom—and that was only, she assumed, because she had actually been sleeping in it.
    She sank down at the table, distracted by a back issue of Hoof Care and Lameness magazine that she’d forgotten had come in the mail, when she heard her kitchen door open.
    “Enzo?” she called, padding back into the kitchen.
    He stood in the doorway, four bulging bags of groceries in his arms, her dogs trailing after him, panting happily.
    She shot the animals an amused look. Traitors.
    He put the bags down on the counter and grinned at her.
    Damn, but he was good-looking.
    “ Buenos días, mi corazón ,” he said as he started to unload the bags.
    “That’s a lot of food,” she observed. “Are we having guests?”
    He shook his head. “I know it looks like I went a bit overboard, but you literally have nothing to eat in this house.”
    Antonia raised an eyebrow. “I don’t really cook.”
    “Luckily, I do,” he said cheerfully, and tossed her what looked like a perfectly ripe peach.
    She put it down on the counter and then, catching its sweet scent, changed her mind and picked it back up. She bit into it and the juice ran down her chin. Sputtering, she wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand as Enzo laughed.
    “Good, no?” he said. “I’m going to make you sour cream peach pancakes. How does that sound?”
    She put the fruit back down. “Enzo,” she said, “you don’t have to do all this.”
    “All what?” he said as he lined up his ingredients and opened her cabinets, searching.
    “Cook,” she said. “And clean. Especially not the cleaning.”
    He turned back to her. “Antonia,” he said, “do you know how many years I have been waiting to get my hands on your house?”
    She blinked, thinking of his small