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She followed his direction and went past an industrial-sized pantry stocked to the gills with enough food to feed an army for several months.
Praying fervently they wouldn’t need more than a fraction of it, Giada went through swinging doors into another room stocked brim-full of wine and spirits. Red, white, and everything in between flashed at her, leaving her with a momentary pang of disquiet. Every bottle looked vintage but, like last night, their exclusivity screamed at her. Indecision made her pluck out and return several bottles, her lip caught between her teeth.
‘Problem?’
She jumped, her heart lodging in her throat, to find Alessio disturbingly close behind her. In the enclosed space, his scent assailed her, the combination of fresh ocean breeze and virile man wrapping its intoxicating effect around her.
Shifting away before he saw how her nipples had peaked, how she was struggling to breathe, she shook her head, brazening it out. ‘Not at all. I was just deciding which white to choose.’
Facing the wall of chilled vintage whites, Giada went in blind. ‘This one, I think.’ She pulled out the Chardonnay and passed it to him.
Alessio stared at the label with another arched eyebrow, while she fought not to squirm. ‘Interesting choice.’
Unsure whether he was mocking her, she blurted, ‘Why?’
He displayed the label to her and she read it properly. ‘Maison de Montaldi. You have your own label?’
His mouth twisted in that musing way that wasn’t pleasure nor displeasure. ‘It was payment from a particularly grateful client. I look forward to tasting if it was worth it.’
‘You mean you were given a vineyard as payment, and you’ve never even bothered to try the wine?’
He shrugged and waved her towards the door. ‘I’m more partial to Sicilian wine. My French client was nearer this side of the border, which was why I had it sent here. This is only my second time visiting here since so, no, I’ve never had a chance to try it.’
She frowned as she preceded him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the dining room.
Once they sat down, Alessio opened the wine and poured her a glass. He twirled his own glass as she helped herself to a bowl of vichyssoise and warm bread, nodding imperiously when she indicated his own bowl.
She served him, then found herself waiting with bated breath as he sampled the wine, then shrugged.
‘It’s decent enough.’
Giada tried not to roll her eyes at the dry response, even while a part of her eased and dared to hope that this enforced proximity might not be so hellish after all.
The melon, prosciutto and pea salad that followed was mouth-watering. But thepièce de resistancewas the tray of chocolate truffles he slid towards her after they’d taken their used dishes to the kitchen.
It was so heavenly it drew a small moan of delight from her.
When he stiffened and a wave of something intense washed over his face, she hurried to dissipate the approaching turbulence.
‘How long have you had this place?’
He waited a beat, then, ‘Six years.’
‘You’ve only visited the chalet twice in six years?’
‘I will endure it if I must, but I prefer warmer pastimes to skiing.’
‘Which begs the question, why buy a remote chalet in a country that prides itself on its winter activities if you don’t even like it here?’ she asked.
His eyes rested on her puzzled face for a moment, as if gauging if her interest was genuine, then he nodded behind her.
‘You see that mountain behind you?’
She turned and looked out of the window at the stunning view. Through the falling snow, she saw the large silhouette rising into the sky. ‘Yes.’
‘I own it.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You own it? The whole mountain?’
