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“Here. There’s not much but at least it will keep you warm for now.”
“Thanks.” She looked around. “Is there somewhere…?”
“Of course,” he nodded crisply. “The door on the left.” He gestured down the corridor. As she walked towards the powder room, he found his eyes following her without his consent, studying the lithe grace of her step, the gentle curve of her rear, her neat waist. He dragged his gaze away with effort, turning his attention to the water she’d leaked onto the marble floor. Grabbing a towel from the linen press, he’d just finished drying it when she returned.
His desire now was no stealth-like whisper. It was a throb, a drum beating intensely in his gut, pulsing through his body in a way that was unsettling, given the promise he’d rendered in order to convince her to take shelter.
“What are you doing so far from la viletta?” His voice was thick, strangled by his throat.
“I told you,” she smiled, her wet hands clutched in her hands. “Exploring.”
He moved towards her, noting more details up close. She wore no make up – or perhaps she had, but it had all been washed off now. She didn’t need cosmetics. She had a beauty that was completely natural, her bone structure so fine, her complexion stunning. She’d towel-dried her hair and pulled it over one shoulder and the size of his sweater meant the fine bones of her décolletage were displayed to him.
“Can these go in the machine?”
She pulled a face that was borderline teasing. “Yeah. You don’t need to bother…”
“We’re stuck here til the storm passes. It’s no trouble.”
“If you’re sure.”
He held a hand out by way of acceptance and she placed the clothes in them. The gesture was unconscious but it brought them nearer; up close, there was a hint of citrus surrounding her, as though she’d been kissed by the grove to the east of the house. Her eyes flared wide, as though she too felt this zip of awareness, this hum of need, and neither of them moved for several seconds. They stared at each other so he caught every detail of her response. Her lips parted and her breath was warm, fanning against his Adam’s apple. A hint of colour flared in her cheeks, and the fine pulse point at the base of her throat trembled visibly.
Curiosity strangled him.
“I…” Her voice was soft. She swallowed, as if struggling to grab the threads of her thoughts. “I didn’t realise this was a house. I wouldn’t have encroached on your privacy…”
“Di niente.” He shook his head, and it was like breaking a spell – or postponing its hold at least. “I’ll be right back.”
But she padded behind him, so that as he pushed the towels and her clothes into the washer, he was conscious of her leaning against the doorjamb watching him with an undisguised curiosity of her own. ?
??You’re more domesticated than you look.”
He added a tablet and shut the door, pressed some buttons then stood. “You don’t know that – I could very well have ruined your clothes by putting them on the wrong setting.”
She shrugged. “That’s true.”
And though he knew he should resist the temptation to flirt with her, he heard himself say, “And what do I look like…?”
“Maddie,” she supplied, perhaps to take an easy way out of answering his question.
“Maddie,” he repeated. It suited her. Soft and sweet but somehow confident too. “Well?” He prompted.
“You look like a man who’s never used a washing machine in his life,” she said after a slight pause. “Or maybe it’s just that this place looks like it should come with an army of help…”
He laughed at that. “True. But I prefer to be alone when I’m in Ondechiara.”
“You don’t live here?”
“No.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “So you’re just renting the place? Like a holiday home?”
He frowned. In the village he was well known, but beyond that, the Montebello name was a global one. That she didn’t know who he was a fascinating novelty. “No. It’s mine.”
She narrowed her gaze speculatively and for a brief second he was reminded of his initial belief that she might be a journalist. “It’s beautiful.”
“Si.” He stepped towards her, intending to leave the usually light-filled laundry, but she didn’t shift, so his movement simply brought them close once more. “And what brings you to this tiny little town on the edge of Italy, Maddie?” He liked saying her name. It rolled off his tongue in a way that was addictive.
