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‘Of course.’
‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude and I’m thrilled that you’re going to be working here, but I’m just not that great at sharing my living space with anyone, OK?’ She shrugged awkwardly, wondering why she felt the need to explain herself. ‘I’m selfish. I’m the first to admit it. I’ve lived on my own for too long to be anything else.’
And it was the way she preferred it. It was just a shame that Rita and Mary couldn’t get the message.
He strode over to the huge windows and stared at the view. ‘You’re not being rude. If I lived here, I’d protect it, too.’ He turned to face her. ‘And I’m not intending to invade your personal space, Alice. You can relax.’
Relax?
His rich accent turned her name into something exotic and exciting and she gave a slight shiver. There would be no relaxing while he was staying with her.
‘Then we won’t have a problem.’ She backed towards the door. ‘Make yourself at home. I’m going to take a shower and change. Come down when you’re ready. I’ll be in the kitchen. Making supper.’
Her least favourite pastime. She gave a sigh of irritation as she left the room. She considered both cooking and eating to be a monumental waste of time but, with a guest in the house, she could hardly suggest that they skip a meal in favour of a bowl of cereal, which was her usual standby when she couldn’t be bothered to cook.
Which meant opening the fridge and creating something out of virtually nothing. She just hoped that Gio Moretti wasn’t too discerning when it came to his palate.
Her blue eyes narrowed and she gave a soft smile as she pushed open the door to her own bedroom and made for the shower, stripping off clothes as she walked and flinging them on the bed.
If the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, she was surprised that Mary and Rita had given their plan even the remotest chance of success.
It didn’t take a genius to know that it was going to be hard for a man to harbour romantic notions about a woman who had just poisoned him.
When Gio strolled into the kitchen after a shower and a shave, she was grating cheese into a bowl with no apparent signs of either skill or enthusiasm. He watched with amusement and no small degree of interest and wondered who had designed the kitchen.
It was a cook’s paradise. White slatted units and lots of glass reflected the light and a huge stainless-steel oven gleamed and winked, its spotless surface suggesting it had never been used. In fact, the whole kitchen looked as though it belonged in a show home and it took him less than five seconds of watching the usually competent Alice wrestle with a lump of cheese to understand why.
At the far end of the room French doors opened onto the pretty garden. Directly in front of the doors, positioned to make the most of the view, was a table covered in medical magazines, a few textbooks and several sheets of paper covered in neat handwriting.
He could picture her there, her face serious as she read her way through all the academic medical journals, checking the facts. He’d seen enough to know that Alice Anderson was comfortable with facts. Possibly more comfortable with facts than she was with people.
He wondered why.
In his experience, there was usually a reason for the way people chose to live their lives.
‘Cheese on toast all right with you?’ She turned, still grating, her eyes fixed on his face. ‘Oh…’
‘Something is wrong?’
She blew a wisp of blonde hair out of her eyes. ‘You look…different.’
He smiled and strolled towards her. ‘More like a doctor?’
‘Maybe. Ow.’ She winced as the grater grazed her knuckles and adjusted her grip. ‘I wasn’t expecting guests, I’m afraid, so I haven’t shopped. And I have to confess that I loathe cooking.’ Her blonde hair was still damp from the shower and she’d changed into a pair of linen trousers and a pink top. She looked young and feminine and a long way from the brisk, competent professional he’d met earlier. The kitchen obviously flustered her and he found her slightly clumsy approach to cooking surprisingly appealing. In fact, he was fast discovering that there were many parts of Alice Anderson that he found appealing.
‘Anything I can do?’ Wondering if he should take over or whether that would damage her ego, he strolled over to her, lifted a piece of cheese and sniffed it. ‘What is it?’
‘The cheese?’ She turned on the grill and watched for a moment as if not entirely confident that it would work. ‘Goodness knows. The sort that comes wrapped in tight plastic. Cheddar or something, I suppose. Why?’
He tried not to wince at the vision of cheese tightly wrapped in plastic. ‘I’m Italian. We happen to love cheese. Mozzarella, fontina, ricotta, marscapone…’
‘This is just something I grabbed from the supermarket a few weeks ago. It was covered with blue bits but I chopped them off. I assumed they weren’t supposed to be there. I don’t think they were there when I bought it.’ She dropped the grater and stared down at the pile of cheese with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. ‘There should be some salad in the fridge, if you’re interested.’
He opened her fridge and stared. It was virtually empty. Making a mental note to shop at the earliest convenient moment, he reached for a limp, sorry piece of lettuce and examined it thoughtfully. ‘I’m not bothered about salad,’ he murmured, and she glanced up, her face pink from the heat of the grill, her teeth gritted.
‘Fine. Whatever. This is nearly ready.’ She pulled out the grill pan and fanned her hand over the contents to stop it smoking. ‘I’m not that great a cook but at least it’s food, and that’s all that matters. Good job I’m not really trying to seduce you, Dr Moretti.’ She flashed him a wicked smile as she slid the contents of the grill pan onto two plates. ‘If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, I’m completely safe.’
She wasn’t joking about her culinary skills. Gio stared down at the burnt edges of the toast and the patchy mix of melted and unmelted cheese and suddenly realised why she was so slim. It was a good job he was starving and willing to eat virtually anything. Suddenly he understood Mary’s suggestion that they get a take-away. ‘Did you eat lunch today?’
