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Feeling like he’d just let a tornado into his quarters, Marcelo led her up the stairs to his guest room, which had its own bathroom attached to it. ‘Help yourself to whatever you need,’ he said. ‘I’ll get Alessia to drop some clothes over and get the chef to rustle something up for you to eat. Any dietary requirements?’
‘I hate broad beans if that counts?’
‘I will be sure to tell Chef that. Enjoy your shower, or you can have a bath if you prefer.’ An image flashed in his mind of her reclining naked in the bath. He pushed it firmly aside and added, ‘Please, take your time. There is no rush.’
She beamed. ‘Thank you. Can you make sure Bob gets something to eat soon? He’s only got a small belly and needs to be fed regularly.’
‘I remember,’ he assured her. At their earlier fuel stop Clara had managed to charm—or, more likely, bamboozle—one of the pilots into giving up his beef sandwich so she could feed it in small chunks to the puppy. She hadn’t taken a scrap of it for herself. ‘I will sort it as a priority.’
‘You are clearly taking the path straight to heaven, thank you.’
Still smiling, she closed the bathroom door. The distinct sound of it locking echoed through the oak.
Marcelo gazed down at the fluffball at his feet and sighed before lifting him into his arms. ‘I don’t know about you, Bob,’ he said in his native tongue, ‘but your owner is a unique force of nature.’
Bob licked his face in agreement.
This was one amazing bathroom in one amazing set of private quarters in one amazing castle. The House of Fernandez’s palace in Monte Cleure was beautiful too and comparable in size, but the Berruti castle had character and intrigue seeped in its walls. Well, the walls she’d seen, which was only a teeny fraction of it all.
Soaking in the huge roll-top tub, Clara happily admired the frescoed ceiling high above her featuring naked cherubs and nymphs splashing and swimming in a natural pool in the middle of a wood. Very sensual. Very fitting for the man it belonged to. If this was Marcelo’s guest bathroom, what kind of bathroom did he have for his own private use? If the rest of his private quarters were an indication, she’d guess something akin to a Roman bath.
When boredom kicked in, she washed her hair, scrubbed her body, grabbed the towel closest to hand and climbed out.
Marcelo’s guest bathroom came equipped with a full array of toiletries and after drying herself, she brushed her teeth with a new brush but was disappointed not to find any cosmetics. Clara loved wearing make-up, felt naked without it. Maybe Alessia would let her borrow some. She looked forward to seeing her old friend. Alessia had been the only girl at their horrible boarding school Clara had liked.
Securing the towel around herself, she stepped into the adjoining room. It matched her prison cell for size and had the requisite four-poster bed, but it had far more personality and the most fabulous pale blue satin sofa that wasn’t really a sofa, more a four-bottoms-wide padded chair with gold legs and arms. Plus, if she found herself imprisoned in it, she was only one floor off the ground and could easily jump to safety.
‘Marcelo?’ she called as she left the room. When there was no answer, she wandered down the stairs and into the living room. As she called his name a second time, French doors opened and he stepped in from his private garden with Bob at his heels.
‘There you are,’ she said, kneeling to scoop up Bob, who’d come tearing over to her. ‘Did you manage to get any clean clothes for me?’
From the look of his damp hair and the fresh scent emanating from him, Clara guessed Marcelo had showered. He’d changed out of the tuxedo into a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans and white V-necked T-shirt that admirably displayed his sexy, muscular physique. Oh, he looked good. And that scent!
He turned his head away from her and spoke through what were clearly clenched teeth. ‘I put them on the guest bed for you. Didn’t you hear me call out to you?’
‘No. You should have shouted. Is something the matter?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure? You seem very tense.’
His chest rose. The square jaw was definitely locked. ‘Alessia isn’t in so I’ve given you some of my own clothes to wear.’
‘Ha! You’re twice the size of me.’
‘They’re clean. Go and get changed.’
‘Okay... You sure you’re okay?’
He inclined his head curtly, still not looking at her. ‘Food will be ready in a few minutes.’
‘Cool.’ She stepped to him, ready to hand the puppy over if the answer to her question was no. ‘Is Bob allowed upstairs with me?’
‘No... Yes. That’s fine.’
Marcelo held his breath until she’d left the room and he heard her footsteps bounding up the stairs.
Sinking into the nearest chair, he pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead and tried to rid himself of the image of Clara dressed in nothing but a tiny towel. It was not a sight he’d been expecting and the effect had been immediate and potent. He’d had to hold his breath to stop the warm scent of freshly bathed Clara from dousing his senses and avert his eyes from the feast that was her knockout body wrapped in nothing but a small towel.
