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Her voice was soft, laced with curiosity rather than the irritation that had spiked her earlier words. He frowned, a ripple of discomfort sliding through him. The question felt intrusive, too personal, and for several awkward moments an answer eluded him.
‘I do not consider the use of good sense to be over-protective,’ he said at last.
Silence met his statement, and when he glanced over she was studying him intently. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Marietta, too, had accused him of being over-protective at times, but taking care of his sister was a responsibility he would never shirk—no matter how vociferously she objected. He knew the consequences of failing in that duty and he never wanted to feel the devastation of such failure again. Loving someone, being responsible for them, was no trifling task. Most days it scared the hell out of him.
Setting his jaw, he crunched the Maserati’s gears and turned into the narrow lane that ran down the side of his apartment building. He pressed a key fob on his visor and a wrought-iron gate rattled open, granting access to the secure courtyard he shared with his tenants. He nosed the car past two others and stopped in a reserved space beneath the leafy branches of a mature orange tree.
Helena peered up at the building’s ornate façade. ‘You live right in the city?’
He shut off the engine. ‘Apartments in central Rome with private parking are rare. When one of my clients put the building on the market last year I considered it a good investment.’
She gaped at him. ‘You bought the entire building?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s convenient. My office is a few blocks from here.’
She shook her head and climbed out of the car, completely absorbed, it seemed, in her surroundings. Leo retrieved their luggage from the boot and hoped their previous discussion was over and forgotten. With any luck she’d realise the futility of defying him and accept his edict about the sightseeing.
If she didn’t...?
Well, he could think of several ways to silence her arguments. And he wasn’t above a few dirty tactics of his own.
* * *
Leo’s penthouse apartment was spectacular.
Stylish modern furniture, richly textured rugs and great expanses of glass created a slick, contemporary oasis that floated in peaceful isolation above the heart of the ancient city.
Helena tried hard not to look impressed.
Tried harder still to calm the flutter in her belly as he took her to a bedroom with stunning views from a floor-to-ceiling window and an en suite bathroom so massive she could have swung a tiger. She slipped her holdall off her shoulder, her gaze landing on the gigantic bed with its big, plump pillows and soft ivory comforter.
A steady flush crept up her neck.
‘Hungry?’
She darted him a look. ‘A bit.’ On the plane she’d snacked on biscuits and fruit between bouts of sleep. Now her stomach craved something more substantial. Not to mention her mouth. Dry as a sandpit. ‘Thirsty more than anything.’
He laid her case on the upholstered ottoman at the end of the bed. ‘Settle in, then come and find me in the kitchen when you’re done. Back down the hall on the right.’
Left alone, and with a burst of energy born of nervous tension, Helena made short work of unpacking. Not that the task required much effort. Even with all her clothes arranged on individual hangers she’d utilised only a fraction of the gargantuan wardrobe. She straightened the skirt of the long black gown she’d bought on impulse from a store selling pre-loved designer fashion, stashed her case in the rear of the wardrobe, then checked her phone.
No messages, but she hadn’t expected any. She’d told her mother she was going out of town, visiting a girlfriend in Devon and then attending a team-building course with colleagues during the week. Small, innocuous lies that had caused a pang of guilt, but there was no reason her mother should know about her arrangement with Leo.
She tucked her phone away. Recent conversations with her mother had been stilted, tense, but Miriam had agreed to meet and talk the following weekend, and that, if nothing else, was progress. In the meantime Douglas had run off to Scotland to shoot deer and no doubt seek solace in a bottle or two of single malt: typical behaviour for a man who thought himself untouchable. But on the upside her mother was safe. For now, at least. The coward couldn’t lay hands on his wife while he wallowed in denial four hundred miles away.
Expelling her father from her thoughts, Helena ventured into the hall and followed the faint aroma of garlic and basil until she came to a big, stainless steel and black granite kitchen.
Leo stood behind a large central island, his hand wrapped around the handle of a sharp knife, a partially sliced tomato on the thick wooden board in front of him. An open can of soda sat on the granite. He appeared relaxed. At ease. And more achingly handsome than any man had a right to look, standing at a bench chopping vegetables.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘You cook?’
He glanced up. ‘Bruschetta is hardly cooking. But, yes, when I have the time. My housekeeper stocks the kitchen for me.’
A housekeeper. That explained the spotless floors and gleaming surfaces everywhere she looked.
‘You said you were thirsty. Wine, juice or soda?’
Wine was tempting, but her lack of control after the bubbles on the plane made her shy away from that idea. ‘Juice, thanks.’ She raised a hand when he paused his work. ‘I can help myself.’ Better that than stand there gawking at him. She crossed to a stainless steel double-door refrigerator, surveyed its impressive contents, and selected a carton of apple juice. ‘Glasses?’
