AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It also answered her question more eloquently than any workman could have done.
Her face twisting with anger, she stormed out onto the terrazza. ‘I knew it,’ she spat. ‘I knew you’d be behind this! You are such a—’ She swore furiously in English at the man lounging at the table, drinking coffee.
He frowned, his handsome face creasing with mock horror. ‘Somebody got out of bed the wrong side.’ His eyes gleamed maliciously. ‘Good morning, Miss Golding! I hardly recognise you with your clothes on!’
‘Ha-ha! Very amusing. Now, will you please tell me what the hell you’re playing at?’
‘I’m not playing at anything, cara. This is work.’ His eyes pinned her to the spot. ‘I’m sorry we got you up so early, but not all of us have the luxury of a lie-in.’
He was speaking in English too, and she stared at him mutely, trying to work out why. And then abruptly he stood up and languidly stretched his shoulders and all rational thought went out of her head as her body went on high alert.
‘Don’t mind us,’ he said, stifling a yawn. ‘We can just carry on down here and you can go back up to bed.’
Flora gaped at him. Why was he acting like this? He was being friendly, pleasant. He was making it seem as though this was something she’d agreed to. Glancing round, she felt her skin grow warm as she saw two of the men on his team share a conspiratorial glance.
Did they think she and Massimo were—? She opened her mouth to protest—and then stopped as Massimo smiled malevolently at her outraged expression.
Their eyes met and his smile widened. ‘Actually, I had a very early start. Perhaps I’ll just come up with you—’
She glowered at him. ‘No. You will not—’ And then she jumped violently as a loud thumping started from somewhere further inside the house. ‘What the hell is that noise?’ Turning, she stalked back into the kitchen like an angry cat.
Following her, Massimo shrugged, his face bland and unreadable. ‘I’m not exactly sure.’ He gestured vaguely towards a box of cables. ‘Something to do with improving the internet.’
His eyes picked over the two spots of colour on her cheeks and the pulse throbbing in her neck and something in their considering gleam made her want to take some of the cable and strangle him with it. But instead she gritted her teeth. Knowing him, he was probably hoping she’d do just that
so he could exercise some medieval right to remove unstable female tenants.
She took a deep breath. ‘You can’t do this, Mr Sforza—’
‘Call me Massimo,’ he said smoothly. ‘I know I’m your landlord, but there’s really no need to stand on ceremony.’
She bit her lip—he was baiting her. Worse, he was enjoying watching her struggle with her temper. ‘Yes. You are my landlord. Which means that you can’t just walk in here whenever you feel like it.’
‘You know, I thought you’d say that,’ he murmured, reaching into his jacket pocket. ‘So I had one of my staff print off a copy of your tenancy agreement. Here. You can keep it.’ He glanced at the slanting pile of letters stacked against the wall. ‘File it with all your other important documents.’
Staring at him mutinously, she snatched it from him. ‘I don’t need a copy. I know what it says, and it says that you can’t just turn up without warning. You have to give me notice.’
He frowned. ‘Did I not do that? How remiss of me. I can’t imagine how that happened. And there was me, trying to be a good landlord—’
‘You were not,’ she retorted, her resolve to keep her temper hanging by a fibre optic thread. ‘If you were, your men wouldn’t be bashing holes in my walls—they’d be fixing the roof and the plumbing. You’re just doing this to try and make my life difficult. So why don’t you just take your stupid internet cable and all this other rubbish and leave before I call the police?’
He held her angry gaze, and she saw that flecks of silver were dappling his eyes like sea foam. Her heart began to thump painfully.
‘Why bother?’ he said easily, glancing at his watch. ‘I’m meeting the Chief of Police in an hour for lunch. We’re old friends. I can mention your concerns to him, if you like.’
The expression on his face was hard to define, but whatever it was it didn’t improve her temper. ‘Which presumably he’ll then ignore?’ she snapped. Damn him! Pretending he was concerned about her when they both knew the exact opposite was true.
‘There’s no need to get hysterical, cara.’ There was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. ‘I’m only trying to help you.’
It was the last straw. Her voice rose shrilly. ‘You’re not trying to help anyone but yourself.’
He took a step towards her and held out his hands apologetically, placatingly. ‘I am. Truly. And I’m sorry about all this noise and mess.’ Turning, he barked out a few words in rapid Italian, and as if a switch had been flicked the hammering and drilling stopped and within seconds the kitchen was empty and silent.
She stared at him, confused.
‘Here. Drink this.’ He held out a glass of water and then as she took it, he shook his head and said softly, ‘You see. You’re already starting to wish you’d taken the money, aren’t you?’
For a moment she floundered, shocked by his malice and sheer bloody-mindedness, and then anger, hot and damp like wet earth, rose in her throat. Breathing out slowly, she put the glass on the table. She wanted to kill him.
