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“Do what?”
“Put that in the oven?”
“Oh!” She swore softly, squeezed her eyes shut then blinked up at him. He was so close that she could see all the little flecks of grey in eyes that were otherwise a shimmering black. Her knees almost gave way. “No, I’ve got it.”
With fingers that felt oddly clumsy and disconnected from her body, she lifted the basin and slid it with care into the oven. Alessio closed the door, but neither moved. The warmth from the oven brushed Charlotte’s legs but it was a sensation she was barely aware of.
He stared at her as though he was looking for something in her face, as though he could see right through her, to all the little prisms that formed her whole soul, and she stared back: lost, powerless to move, quite literally enthralled by everything about this man in this moment. From his eyes to his lips to his closeness and smell, his hair mussed by sleep, his five o’clock shadow that made her palms tingle with the temptation to feel the roughness beneath her skin, his air of masculinity that engulfed her and wrapped around her and made it hard to think straight, so she was dumbfounded and silent, except for the rough little breaths that burst from her.
“Usually when I share coffee with a woman, it’s after sharing a bed together first,” he said quietly, so close now she felt his breath against her temple. Her pulse gave a strange tremble.
He was being deliberately provocative, and somehow, she liked it. It was…intimate and personal.
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Coffee or sex?”
Her throat felt constricted. “Either.”
“Daily for the coffee. Sex, not quite so much.”
“But still often?”
He made a deep, guttural growling noise of agreement. “It’s a good form of exercise.”
“And here I opt for running.”
“That works, but it’s considerably less fun.”
A strange sense of unreality unfolded around Charlotte. Were they really having this conversation?
“I’m not—,” she searched for something to say. “Dash is my life,” she finished after a beat. “I don’t—,”
He lifted a finger and pressed it to her lips. “I’m only staying for Christmas.” His accent was heavier, or perhaps she simply heard it more clearly now, as every single part of her was focussed on him. “I have no interest in…stealing your focus. Not much of it, anyway.”
Oh, how Charlotte wished she understood men better. Was he saying, was he suggesting, some kind of short-term fling? Melody would know exactly what he meant, and how Charlotte should respond. For her own part, she was flying blind.
He leaned down, closing the gap between them, his eyes probing hers, and then, his lips brushed hers, lightly, teasingly, and oh so quickly, she barely had time to moan and lean into him before he’d pulled away and stepped backwards, putting at least an oven’s width between them. “Think about it, Carlotta,” he murmured, then smiled, slowly, teasingly, but in a way that didn’t reach his eyes—which burned, absolutely burned, with desire and promise.
Her breath snatched in her throat, and she nodded—what else could she do? She would think of nothing else…
Chapter3
“BIGGER. BIGGER. KEEP GOING.” Across the bar, Caleb watched as Charlotte poured a glass of red wine, a sceptical expression on his face. “Seriously, don’t stop,” he said, then reached for the wine and took a gulp.
“What’s going on?” She murmured, pouring herself a small glass then taking the seat beside him. Charlotte’s workday was finished, and the kitchen was now in the excellent hands of her team, who worked like a well-oiled machine, leaving her free to finally sit down for the first time all day. She sipped her own wine and her whole mouth buzzed, remembering the sensation of Alessio’s lips as they’d brushed hers.
He’d been out all day.
Not that she’d been looking for him, of course, but in a small hotel like this, it was pretty standard to know when guests came and went, and he’d left shortly after breakfast. She’d busied herself with taking Dash to school, then her work shift, bringing Dash home and settling him with some schoolwork and dinner, and was just now having a quick catch up with Caleb before throwing herself into an evening of Jurassic Park and pasta.
“You don’t want to know. Tell me about your day?”
She stared at Caleb and wondered at the sense of guilt that flooded her. Betrayal. Because even though they were ‘just friends’, she knew—as did everyone in town—how Caleb felt about her, and the very idea of having let someone else kiss her, of having wanted them to do a whole lotmorethan kiss her, made her feel as awkward as anything. But she’d never given Caleb false hope. She’d been bluntly honest with him, in fact, about her priorities and lack of availability.
They really were ‘just friends’ now, and she was almost sure he’d given up hope of anything more happening with her.
“Nothing to tell,” she said quickly, her voice sounding false even to her own ears. “Dash got a headmaster’s award.”
