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‘But this place is supposed to be deserted.’ Frustration was building in his chest. He turned around and gestured at the fading building behind him. ‘I mean, look at it. How long has your sister had it? She hasn’t done any work at all. This place is falling apart at the seams.’
Portia’s dark eyes gleamed. ‘I think you’ll find that this place has been like this for around the last fifteen years. When was the last time you were here, exactly? Sofia let things fall by the wayside. She didn’t keep up the house maintenance. After her relationship with Crown Price Ludano ended, I’m not sure she had the means.’ Portia glared at him. ‘My other sister Miranda and her husband Cleve have made some temporary repairs to the roof and electrics. I was hoping to tidy up a bit while I was here. Posy is a ballerina. She doesn’t have any spare funds right now, let alone enough money to carry out the extensive repairs that this place will need.’ It was obvious she was on the defensive.
But so was he.
‘Last I heard no one was staying here at all.’ All the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on the offensive. Press. He had to get rid of her. How on earth could he sort things out with someone like her around?
‘So you thought you would just break in?’ she shot back.
He pulled the ancient large key from his pocket. ‘I didn’t break in. My mother has a key to Villa Rosa—she has done for years.’
‘And that gives you the right to just appear here and let yourself in? My sister inherited this property. It’s hers.’ She placed her hand on her chest and raised her eyebrows. ‘I know that I’m supposed to be here. But I’m quite sure you haven’t asked her permission. Particularly when you don’t even know her name.’
Javier was stunned. He wasn’t used to people treating him like an unwanted guest. He certainly hadn’t expected anyone to be here. He’d wanted the place to himself. But it was clear that wasn’t going to happen.
It was too late now to go anywhere else. The last ferry to the mainland had left hours ago. There weren’t any hotels nearby.
If Ms Portia Marlowe wanted to toss him out to the kerb, movie star or not, he was in trouble.
It was time to use the old Italian charm. He’d won awards for his acting. He might not mean a single word of it, but that didn’t matter right now. He needed a bed for the night and could sort the rest of this out in the morning.
He smiled. He already suspected she might have had a few drinks. Maybe it was time to play on the situation.
He put his hand to his forehead and gave it a rub, throwing in a little sway for good measure. He wasn’t an actor for nothing. ‘Yeow!’ He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, giving his head a shake.
She frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
He gestured to the glass on the terrace. ‘I didn’t notice at first. But that glass packed a bit of a punch.’ He shot her a smile and shook his head again. ‘I’m fine. Just dizzy for a second.’
For the briefest moment her eyes narrowed, almost as if she suspected she was being played. But then, guilt must have swamped her. She moved forward and pointed towards the rocking chair behind them. ‘Do you want to sit down? Will I get you some water?’
He gave a nod, and stepped backwards to the chair. It creaked as he lowered himself into the wooden frame and he prayed it wouldn’t splinter and send him sprawling on the ground.
Peaceful quiet surrounded him.
From up here he could hear the lapping sea. Hear the rustling leaves. Hear the occasional chirrup of a bird. Tranquillity. This was what he’d come here for. This was what he’d hoped to find.
Aldo would have loved this place. He wished he’d had the chance to bring him. He would have adored the waves crashing into the cove. At one point Aldo had fancied himself as a surfer, but the sea had had other ideas. When they were young guys, every holiday Aldo had hired a surfboard and spent hour after hour wiping out. Most of the time they’d nearly drowned laughing. His fists clenched. Why had he never taken the opportunity to bring him to Sofia’s? It spun around in his head, adding to the list of things he ‘should’ have done. Instead, time had just slipped away. Life had been too busy. There was always tomorrow.
Until there wasn’t.
A fact he was going to have to learn to live with.
Too busy. Too busy filming. Too busy in meetings. Too busy to answer the phone to an old friend. He’d meant to call back that night. But after sixteen hours on set it had just slipped from his mind.
The next call he’d received had ripped his heart out.
That was why he’d come here. To find space. To find peace. For a reality check on the life he was living.
Instead, he’d found Portia Marlowe. A beautiful woman, but a Hollywood reporter. It was like a romance and a horror movie both at once. He would have to manage this situation carefully.
He closed his eyes and let the chair rock back and forth. Maybe she was due to go home in the next day or so? This might actually be okay. He only planned to stay here for a few weeks. Just enough time to give him some space. Some alone space.
There was a tinkling noise. Portia was on her knees sweeping the broken glass up with a dustpan and brush, her face a little pink. She caught his gaze and shrugged. ‘I didn’t know who you were. You caught me unawares.’
‘So did you.’
The answer came out before he had time to alter it. She looked surprised. Her dark gaze locked with his. Against the backdrop of the now purple and pink sky Portia almost looked as if she were standing inside the painted drawing room. A cameraman would wait hours for a shot like this. But right now, Javier was the only person with this view. Portia blinked, breaking their gaze and picking up the bottle of water she had next to her feet. ‘Here, it’s not too cold. The fridge seems to be a temperamental teenager right now. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t bother.’
He nodded and took the lukewarm bottle of water, his fingers brushing against hers. A film director would have added a little twinkle and sparkling stars to match the pulses that shot up his arm.
He pushed the feeling aside. Being attracted to Portia Marlowe wasn’t an option. Not for a second. It couldn’t go anywhere. He had enough to sort out without bringing a Hollywood reporter into the equation.
She leaned forward, the soft curves of her breasts only inches from his hand. Her thumb brushed his forehead. ‘There’s not even a mark. I should probably be relieved.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Can you imagine the hoo-ha if I’d damaged the face of one of the world’s most famous film stars?’
Her face paled and her hand gripped the edge of the rocker. His stomach sank. The enormity of her actions had just hit her—him too. A scar would have resulted in his agent and publicist probably having some kind of fit. In the space of a few seconds, he could see the headlines, the plastic-surgeon consultations, the juggling of schedules and the threatened lawsuits all from an action that hadn’t really been intentional. It had been reactive. Not pre-planned. When he’d feigned feeling dizzy it had only been for his own ends. He didn’t want to spend the night sleeping on the street when he’d come here uninvited. Now he felt like some kind of cad.
He breathed in slowly, inhaling some of her rose perfume. It was tantalising. Or maybe that was just Portia. He gave his head a quick shake, trying to realign his senses. ‘I think maybe I just need to sleep. I’ve been travelling for a long time. I’m sure after a good night’s sleep I’ll feel fine.’
He let the words hang in the air. She opened her mouth to start to speak then closed it again. He could practically see the thoughts tumbling around in her brain. Her English sensibilities and good manners were obviously bubbling underneath the surface.
‘I’m sure I can fix up a bed for you. One of the other bedrooms is almost cleaned. I did some laundry the other day.’ There was hesitation in her voice.
Javier shot her his
best smile. ‘That’s really kind of you. Thanks very much.’
He closed his eyes again as he heard her walk back into the house. He rocked back and forward in the chair. This was almost therapeutic.
And he needed that right now.
Because his time at Villa Rosa had just changed beyond all measure.
CHAPTER TWO
PORTIA LAY IN her bed wondering if the man in the next room was up yet.
Or maybe he’d died in the night of some hidden head injury she’d caused by throwing the wine glass?
She groaned and rolled onto her side. Sleep had been a stranger to her. She’d tossed and turned all night.
Somehow, Javier Russo had ended up sleeping in the room next to hers.
Talk about messing with her head.
