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r a brief moment, made them look blisteringly hot and molten.
Then, to unbalance her completely, there’d been moments when his hostility and surliness had abated and a kind of dry, reluctant amusement had surfaced.
It was all terribly confusing.
And overwhelming.
No wonder her stomach was jumping with nerves as she made her way downstairs.
At least she didn’t make any wrong turns on her way to the formal dining room tonight, having finally got the layout of the villa successfully memorised. She paused in the hallway, as she had last night, and touched a nervous hand to her hair, then walked into the room—and pulled up short.
It was empty.
She looked at the long, polished dining table. There were no place settings tonight.
‘I thought you might like to dine outdoors.’
The deep voice came from behind her and she spun round, a hand splayed over her startled heart.
‘Apologies,’ Xavier said, one side of his mouth tilting up. ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
She smiled and shook her head, even though her heart continued to race. In a silk shirt the same shade of steel-grey as his eyes, and dark trousers that hugged narrow hips and long, powerful legs, he looked devastatingly attractive. Again. His dark hair was swept off his forehead and he’d shaved since she’d last seen him, leaving his tanned jaw hard and smooth.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, feeling a little breathless. ‘And, yes, outdoors sounds great.’
He guided her through a set of French doors at the far end of the dining room and onto the terrace, where a table was beautifully set for two. The summer sun had begun its descent towards the horizon and the warmth of the evening was tempered by a light breeze off the ocean.
He held out a chair for her. ‘Rosa mentioned that you’d chosen to eat out here last night, so I thought you might like to do the same this evening.’
She sat down, her awareness of him behind her manifesting itself as a hot, tingling sensation feathering down her spine. As he moved away to take his own seat she caught the same scents of sandalwood and citrus that she’d picked up on yesterday, in the back of the car.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, feeling surprised and a little bit wary that he was being so...nice. She cleared her throat. ‘Did you get all your work done this afternoon?’ she asked politely.
‘My work is never done.’
She discerned a wry note in his voice, but no hint of resentment or self-pity. He simply sounded matter-of-fact.
He lifted a bottle from a silver ice bucket on the table. ‘Wine?’
‘Yes, please.’ She waited until he’d filled their glasses and returned the bottle before speaking again. ‘Is that why you work six days a week?’
‘Seven sometimes.’
He grabbed his napkin, snapped it loose and placed it over his lap, performing the simple task with the same precision she imagined he applied to every task he undertook.
He looked at her and paused, one dark eyebrow angling up. ‘I take it from your expression you disapprove?’
Hot colour bloomed in her cheeks. Was she so easy to read? ‘I don’t disapprove of hard work,’ she said, sorting out her own napkin and then picking up her knife and fork.
Their starters were already on the table: dainty salads of dark green arugula, with melon, pistachios, crumbled goat’s cheese and thin, delicate strips of a cured meat. She speared a cube of melon.
‘But...?’
She glanced up, straight into his piercing grey eyes, and felt her pulse kick. ‘Focusing on work to the exclusion of all else isn’t very healthy,’ she ventured. ‘Life should ideally be a balance of things—work, leisure, relationships, family...’ She paused. ‘You must want a family of your own one day?’
She winced inwardly as soon as the question was out. What on earth had made her ask that? It was too personal. She braced herself, waiting for him to suggest she mind her own business.
He surprised her. ‘Sí. And when I have a wife and children it will be my responsibility to provide for them.’
