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He studied her as she sipped her wine. Long dark curls with sun-tipped ends, light golden tan, long legs—mostly hidden—snub nose and—when she wanted to—a dazzling smile.
In lots of ways Portia Marlowe really was the perfect woman.
If only she had another job.
Not that he could even contemplate a relationship right now. In the last two years he’d only had time for a few dates, and none of them had made him want to plan ahead.
The press hadn’t picked up on Aldo’s suicide. He’d been relieved. The last thing Aldo’s family needed was a reporter poking into their private business.
A few lines in a couple of online reports had mentioned Javier had flown to Italy for a funeral. But it had been the lead up to one of the biggest award ceremonies at the time and there had been a hundred other scandalous stories to fill all the papers and magazines.
Portia sighed and turned towards him. He leaned forward and topped up both of their glasses with wine, handing hers back to her, then turned to face her too.
For a moment time seemed to stand still. Both lying on their towels, facing each other with heads propped on their hands and white sand beneath their toes. The craggy rock arch had thrown a shadow over part of Portia. Her black kaftan had moved as she turned, revealing a long expanse of tanned leg. The rest of the thin material flickered in the breeze, hinting at all the curves underneath.
She looked at him with her big brown eyes and took a sip of her wine. ‘I’m a musical girl. Which doesn’t help in Hollywood these days when they don’t make them any more.’
He smiled at the easy subject matter. Portia was wise enough not to pry, and to give him a little space.
‘I always wanted to be one of the kids in The Sound of Music. I may even have longed for a pair of red shoes like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.’ She moved her feet in the sand. ‘If I click my heels three times I’ll get back home.’ She closed her eyes just for a second. ‘You’re not ready to go back home?’
‘No. Of course not. This is a holiday.’ Now he was curious. ‘You said it was your sister’s wedding last week—and you have a few weeks’ holiday. How did you manage to get so much time off?’
It was a natural question. Everyone knew that in Hollywood unless you were constantly on the TV you were instantly forgotten. One of LA’s late-night talk-show hosts refused to take holidays. His predecessor had taken holidays and by the time he’d come back from a round-the-world cruise he’d been replaced. Hollywood was definitely fickle and he was quite sure there would be another, equally beautiful and ambitious, woman snapping at Portia’s heels.
‘I was due holidays. My producer knew that. I’ve always filled in and covered emergencies for them.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’ve even presented the weather a few times despite the fact I can’t tell one cloud from another.’
He laughed. ‘I can top that for jobs we’re not qualified for.’
She gave an easy smile. ‘How?’
‘When I was a jobbing actor I was an extra on an old Western made-for-TV movie. I was supposed to just sit in the background of the bar, then walk past with horses a few times.’
‘And?’
He gave her a wink. ‘If you look in the credits you’ll see my name under “Old Hag”.’
Portia spluttered then choked on her wine. ‘What?’
‘Hey!’ Javier flung up his hands. ‘I got a line out of it. It was worth it.’
‘What was the line?’
He wrinkled his face up and leaned close to her. Portia leaned in a little too, waiting for him to whisper. She was almost holding her breath, waiting to hear the line.
He couldn’t resist. He took a deep breath, his lips close to her ear. ‘It was...’ he pulled back—just for effect ‘...“Stop thief!”’ His voice echoed across the beach and cove.
She fell back, tipping her wine over the sand as laughter shook through his whole body.
She slapped his shoulder. ‘You ratbag.’
He winked. ‘I might not have been the star, but it got my name on the credits. And the make-up was spectacular—even my own mother didn’t recognise me.’
She tilted her head to the side. ‘Where is your mother these days?’
He felt himself bristle. It was a natural question. It was him that had mentioned her. ‘She lives in Rome these days.’ He picked up his wine glass that was wedged in the soft sand. ‘Here, have mine.’
Her fingers brushed against his as she reached for the wine. ‘Thank you, I will. I think you owe me for that.’
‘How can I make it up to you? Do you want me to sing to you? A duet? Break into a musical routine? I once made an attempt at the chimney-top dance from Mary Poppins.’
She rested back on her towel. ‘Oh, I’d love to see that. I’d pay money to see that.’ But she shook her head. ‘Although I love musicals, Posy’s the one with all the dance talent. As for my singing? I can clear a room with a few notes.’
‘That good?’
She nodded. ‘Oh, yeah.’
This was the first time in a long time he’d actually felt relaxed. Actually wanted to be in a woman’s company. Maybe it was Villa Rosa? Maybe it was the fact he knew he could do manual labour for a few days and clear his head. Or maybe it was the sometimes prickly woman with the best accent and the biggest brown eyes he’d ever seen.
She gave a sigh as she looked out across the ocean. ?
??The view here is just amazing. I always thought my favourite place in the universe was the Griffith Park Observatory.’
‘You like it up there?’ He was surprised. It was a popular place in LA. He just hadn’t thought of it as a place Portia would visit.
‘The view across LA is amazing. And the view at night?’ She held up her fingers, blew a puff of air into them and flicked them in the air. ‘It’s just mesmerising.’
He gazed across the azure sea. ‘As good as this?’
‘Hmm...’ She contemplated for a second. ‘I guess they could be equal.’ She lay back and looked up at the arch. Her eyes took on a wicked twinkle. ‘You do know that Sofia wanted to paint the arch pink—don’t you?’
‘What?’ He sat bolt upright, then shook his head and started laughing. ‘No way. No, she didn’t.’
Portia gave a firm nod. ‘Oh, yes, she did. It was one of her phases. She thought the arch would look better in pink. My grandmother nearly had a fit.’
He turned around to face her again. ‘I guess it never came to anything.’
She took a drink of her wine. ‘Thank goodness.’ She squinted up at the arch. ‘Can you imagine if this had been painted pink?’ She gave a shudder.
He couldn’t help but smile at her. Portia was nowhere near as prickly as he’d first thought. She might even be fun.
‘How about I make dinner tonight?’
Her eyes shot up for a second. Then she gave him a knowing smile. ‘Are we barbecuing?’
‘Why?’
She grinned. ‘Because I’m not sure how reliable the oven is. You can cook on the stove—I’ve made a few mean omelettes in the last week—but that’s it.’
He shook his head. ‘You’ve survived the last week on omelettes? Oh, no. Surely we can do better than that. There are a few restaurants in Baia di Rose—why don’t we see if I can arrange a taxi and head to one of those?’
She bit her lip. It was almost as if she were contemplating saying no. When was the last time a woman had turned him down? He almost couldn’t remember.
Getting out for dinner might do them some good. He needed to head into the village anyway to order some glass for the conservatory. Having dinner seemed like a plan.
