‘Buongiorno, Michelle.’ He raised a hand to her. Water cascaded from his long, muscular limbs. He swam to the side of the pool in a few strokes. Folding his arms on the edge, he looked up at her appreciatively.
‘The water is cold, but this is a great way to kick-start your system first thing in the morning. Come on in.’
‘Er…no, thanks. I’m not here to swim. I—I only came for a walk around the grounds.’
Alessandro threw himself backwards in a creamy foam of water. Michelle knew only too well where to look, but didn’t. The temptation was unbearable, but she tried to act as though muscular men stripped down to their Speedos were an everyday part of her life.
‘If you didn’t come to swim, why are you wearing that bikini?’
Michelle dropped her attention to the tiles at her feet. As she did so, she saw that the ties of her dressing gown had worked loose during her headlong dash to the pool. Wrapping it tightly around herself, she secured it with a firm knot.
Alessandro slid through the water like a seal to take up a position at the side of the pool again. Heat flared in Michelle’s cheeks. She went over in her mind everything that had gone on between them the night before. The embarrassment had all been on her side, the easy charm on his. As she burned, she wished with all her heart she could come up with some wonderful remark. Anything—anything—to recapture the magic of last night…
‘So? What are you waiting for? Join me.’
She twiddled the tie of her dressing gown. ‘I couldn’t possibly…I only work here. You’re a guest.’
‘And I’m only inviting you into the water. There’s no rule that says staff can’t come in with me, is there?’ He shrugged.
With her body reacting to everything Alessandro had on show, Michelle didn’t know what to do. Instinct told her to take a chance, but her sense of decency said run. She stared down at a ladybird creeping across the tiled surround of the pool. It was heading for her toes with the sort of determination she desperately needed.
‘I’m sorry, Alessandro,’ she said, with more truth that he could ever have imagined. ‘It’s not my place.’
He was floating on his back, watching her. When she said that, he stood up in a shower of droplets. Michelle’s eyes were instantly riveted on him. She couldn’t tear them away. He looked magnificent. Two metres of tightly packed muscles and smooth, flawless skin. He had the pale colouring of someone who spent all day behind a desk, but who would toast to a golden tan in no time at all. Michelle was imagining the effect already. Tiny trickles of water led her gaze down over his bunched pectorals and his flat, muscular belly.
Laughing at her expression, when he said his next words he gave her exactly the push she needed.
‘If you’re determined to be a member of staff, then I’ll stick to the rules too. I’m going to give you a direct order. It’s OK to enjoy life—so get into this pool and start,’ he called to her.
Every second of Michelle’s upbringing had been geared towards following orders. But this one sent a thrill through her.
Throwing off her dressing gown, she dived straight into the water. Once beneath its surface, the simple feeling of freedom relaxed her in a rush. The chill shock invigorated her, as Alessandro had promised. She surfaced, laughing and splashing. Looking around to orientate herself, she saw his dark head dip beneath the water again. Suddenly she felt his hands on her legs. Frictionless, they glided upwards over her body. Flipping onto her back, Michelle kicked away towards the side of the pool with frantic strokes. When she reached it, gasping, he was right beside her.
‘No—please don’t fool about, Alessandro. I’m not a very good swimmer!’
He smiled, his white teeth as perfect as his reply. ‘That dive looked pretty impressive to me.’
Michelle giggled. ‘It gets the shock over quickly. I’d rather do that than suffer inch by inch, edging down the steps.’
As she spoke, he looked down at her legs through the shimmering water. She blushed.
‘You’re an athlete.’ He nodded at the pale marks exposed by her bikini. ‘I can tell from your bronzage.’
During her few precious weeks of freedom Michelle had heard plenty of French spoken with a local accent. She had heard it spoken with an English accent, too. But this was the first time she had heard it given an Italian glow. She couldn’t help laughing at the sound.
‘No, I’m not! I just run whenever I get the time. It helps me think through my problems.’
‘I’m amazed a pretty young woman like you has any problems. The immaculate state of the villa shows how good you are at your job. What else is there to worry about?’
‘My mother died in April.’
His expression softened. ‘I’m sorry.’
Michelle mentally kicked herself for troubling a guest with her affairs, and spoke quickly to defuse the situation. ‘There’s no need to apologise. We were never exactly close.’
‘Close?’ Alessandro’s face compressed. He looked down at the fingers of his left hand as they spread out beneath the water. ‘Some relationships are a waste of good working time. My own mother couldn’t have picked me out of a police line-up.’
Michelle was so stunned she forgot to be polite. ‘You can’t mean that?’
He gazed across the water to the villa’s herb garden. She guessed it wasn’t because he was admiring the ornamental thyme.
‘Everything I’ve achieved in my life has been in spite of my family, not because of them.’
Michelle wondered if his remark had anything to do with those sacked relatives. She decided it was better not to ask.
‘Then I’m sorry for you. Even my mother wasn’t as bad as that.’
His attention snapped straight back to her. ‘Don’t waste your sympathy on me. It will only lead to trouble.’
Curious, she put her head on one side. ‘What do you mean?’
His eyes were twin pools of mystery. ‘If you keep looking at me like that, Michelle, you’ll soon find out.’
Chilly rivulets of water trickled from her hair and she shivered. The points of her nipples were rising—and not only from the cold. It was the way Alessandro’s gaze was totally focussed on her eyes. She could almost feel him searching her soul. No one had ever studied her so intently—not in her whole life. If she was honest, no one had paid any attention to her at all. They only noticed when she hadn’t done something. The interview she’d missed because her mother had destroyed her portfolio, the single occasion she had been too sick to turn out for Spicer and Co…
‘You have a fascinating face, Michelle. Let me draw you,’ he said abruptly.
In all her years of sketching Michelle had never had the nerve to ask a stranger to pose for her. She thought of all those lost opportunities and wished she could be spontaneous, like Alessandro. He had come straight out with a suggestion she would never have been brave enough to make in a million years. So many times she had felt the urge to sketch or paint a person, but had been too shy to do anything about it. Now he was showing her how it should be done.
‘I—I don’t know.’ She scraped her wet hair back from her face to give herself time to think. ‘I work for Mr Bartlett, really, and if he found out I was lounging around being drawn, when I should be busy in the house…’
Alessandro threw off her objection. ‘You’re working for me at the moment. Not Terence.’
Michelle