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‘Paying people to care for you is not the same thing as being self-sufficient. You just wind up relying on your lifestyle to keep you afloat.’
He stopped eating and leaned forward, regarding her over the rim of his coffee cup. ‘What about you, Dara? Who do you rely on?’
She thought for a moment then shrugged, ‘Honestly? No one. I like to feel independent, so I do most things for myself.’
‘Does your family support your choice to live so far away?’
Dara took a bite of grapefruit, taking the chance to mull over his question in her mind. Her family was the most unsupportive unit she had ever known, but she wasn’t about to bare her soul to him about that. She thought of her father and his stoic chauvinistic logic. If it was up to him she would be cooking breakfast for a husband and children right now, not advancing her career.
A vision of small dark-haired children at a table suddenly came to her mind. Their father was looking on indulgently. A father with suspiciously familiar green eyes. She shook her head, chasing away the thoughts. Family was not important to her. Not any more. She preferred not to dwell on things she would never have.
She looked up from her fruit and realised he was still waiting for her to answer. ‘My family aren’t particularly close. Maybe that’s a bad thing to some people—the great Italian family mindset and all. But it fulfils me to focus on my career. My parents send a card at Christmas and birthdays. I do the same. It works for us.’ She shrugged.
‘I’m not judging you, believe me. I’m the last person to lecture anyone about family values. I don’t even own a home.’
‘Oh? I presumed you had a collection of luxury penthouse apartments dotted across the world.’
‘I own plenty of real estate, of course. Paris, Barcelona, New York—you name it. Luxury apartments, mostly. But that’s not the same as having somewhere you can call home.’
He sat back comfortably in his seat, looking out at the view of the ocean below them.
She was suddenly quite curious. ‘If you don’t own a home, then where do you live?’
‘I don’t live anywhere in particular. I stay wherever my work takes me. It’s practical.’ He finished the last of his coffee, setting the cup down on the table and sitting back again in the chair.
Dara shrugged, also looking out across the view. She sensed the matter ran a little deeper than that. A man didn’t live in hotel rooms all year round just because it was ‘practical’.
Leo stood up, deciding to deflect the conversation by gathering Dara into his arms.
She placed a hand on his chest, holding him away from her lips.
‘Leo, what are we doing here?’ she asked quietly.
‘We are two adults who are about to go back upstairs to have fantastic sex for the rest of the afternoon,’ he said confidently, moving the strap of her nightgown down her shoulder smoothly.
‘I mean, what am I doing here? I have a job in Syracuse...I have clients. And you have your own company to run. This is madness.’
It was madness—they both knew it. But he had never felt so enthralled by an affair before. He was wealthy enough to have people run his affairs for a few days with minimum fuss while he indulged in a little leisure time. And Dara had already said that she could run her business remotely during low season.
After last night, the prospect of selling the castello and hurting Dara felt even more uncomfortable. But this wasn’t about feelings—it was about sex, and they both knew that.
‘I think we both know what we want, Dara. And I for one am prepared to take a few days away from reality to have it.’
‘You want me to stay here? With you?’
‘I want you in my bed for as many nights as it takes for us to tire of each other.’
He leaned down to kiss her neck, feeling his groin tighten as she moaned in response.
‘I think that can be arranged,’ she said breathlessly.
‘I think this is my favourite deal of all.’
Leo smiled seductively, taking her by the hand and leading her back to the bedroom.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT COUPLE of days passed in a haze of sexual fog. Most of their time was spent in the bedroom—they ventured out only for nourishment and a bout of fresh air.
The fresh air had consisted of late-night walk on the beach, when he’d proceeded to make love to her slowly on the old wooden dock, with the sea water lapping around them.
