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Truthfully, she could be anywhere.
And after the way he’d treated her the chances of her ever stepping through those kitchen doors again were minimal. Less than zero, in fact.
He poured another glass of wine. This was definitely the one place on earth she’d never want to set eyes on again. Hell! He shouldn’t even be here. Only he couldn’t seem to leave.
He glanced round the garden, his skin tightening. Or rather he didn’t want to leave. Here, he could let his imagination drift. He could almost see her disappearing under an archway at the end of the garden, hear her laughter from inside the kitchen.
Sitting up straighter, he shook his head. If he was chasing shadows...phantoms, it must be time to move. Standing up unsteadily, he picked the bottle off the table and began to walk slowly across the lawn. Beneath his bare feet the grass felt hot and parched, and he could feel the wine working its way through his blood.
Softly he began to hum under his breath. He couldn’t quite place the tune, but he knew he remembered it from somewhere.
And then he heard it.
Someone was singing—singing the words to the song he was humming.
His heart started to pound. It was a woman’s voice. Soft, husky, familiar.
Squinting up into the sun, he let the alcohol and the heat mingle with his memories. It wasn’t her. He knew that, of course. It was just his imagination. But he didn’t care.
Slowly, as though mesmerised, he followed the voice across the lawn. But as he stepped through the arch that led into the water garden the singing stopped. Hesitating, he stared through the foliage, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, hope twitching in every muscle.
But of course she wasn’t there.
For a moment he stood, swaying slightly, and then carefully he walked towards the large rectangular ornamental pond that gave the garden its name. The surface was dotted with water lilies, their waxy white petals splaying up towards the sun, and he stared at them in fascination. And then suddenly he jerked backwards, grabbing the arm of a beautiful marble statue to keep his balance, as a naked woman broke the surface of the water, rising up slowly.
She had her back to him.
But he would know the curve of that spine anywhere—even in the darkness. It was Flora.
His head was spinning; his breath was hot and dry in his throat.
It couldn’t be her.
He must be imagining it. Or it was some kind of optical illusion. Any moment now the sun would go behind a cloud and she would disappear for ever.
Holding his breath, he watched as with effortless grace she pulled herself onto one of the marble slabs edging the pond, smoothing her hair back over the contours of her head.
He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t real. He was happy just to stand there and watch her. He frowned. Maybe he could even get a little closer.
Letting go of the statue’s arm, he put the bottle down on the ground and stepped forward just as she turned around.
She stopped, one foot slightly raised like a deer at the edge of a meadow. And then slowly she frowned and folded her arms. ‘I know you’re the landlord, but tenants have rights too. Including privacy while bathing. It’s in my contract.’
Massimo gazed at her dazedly. ‘Flora?’
She stared at him impatiently. ‘Is that the best you can do? Pretend you don’t know who I am?’
‘I— No— I do know who you are. Of course. I thought you were...’ He hesitated. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
He watched, transfixed, as she picked her way across the stones and came towards him, his eyes following the droplets of water trickling down over her naked breasts and stomach.
She was real. What was more, she was there, standing in front of him.
‘What are you doing here?’ he murmured.
She glowered at him. ‘I live here, remember? This is my home.’
His eyes met hers and she almost flinched. She’d forgotten how it felt to be the object of that gaze. How tight and hot and restless it made her feel.
