‘Have you...um...?’ Sofia found that she was flustered and distracted by the play of muscle and sinew just visible beneath the old T-shirt and faded jeans as he strolled to sit at the kitchen table, a vast affair fashioned out of glass and chrome and hideously unsuitable for anyone with kids.
‘Have I...um...what?’
‘Been a gardener for long,’ Sofia said with strained politeness as her disobedient eyes fastened onto his lean, beautiful face, only to skitter away in alarm because she never stared at any man. It just wasn’t her thing. Least of all an over-the-top-good-looking one like this because, in her experience, good-looking always signalled trouble.
Just like that, he looked up, their eyes tangled and for a few seconds she found that she couldn’t breathe.
‘It’s a burgeoning career,’ Rafael said vaguely. ‘And, on the subject of people not looking the part, you look nothing like a nanny.’
Sofia stiffened, wondered whether this was going to be the start of the flirting game. He was going to be stationed in the annex by the pool. Coming as he did by word of mouth, she doubted that he would prove any kind of threat, but he could prove a nuisance, and she was going to be here on her own with him.
‘Do you have a lot of experience of nannies?’ she asked courteously. ‘Maybe you expect me to be older? Perhaps with a wart or two on my chin?’
‘We could have conversed in Spanish but I am more comfortable speaking English and you’ve answered in kind. You’re bilingual. Not what I would have expected.’ Rafael pushed away his empty plate and then relaxed back with his hands behind his head. ‘Now that we’re on the subject of expectations.’
‘You’re finished eating. I think I should show you where you’ll be staying. Like you said, you’re hot and tired.’
‘Is that your way of telling me that you don’t want me asking any more questions?’
Sofia shrugged and didn’t bother to beat about the bush. ‘I suppose it is.’
Rafael didn’t budge. He was here on a mission. The sooner he got the job done, the quicker he would be able to dump this ridiculous charade of being a gardener. The closest he’d ever got to gardening was the book he’d bought the day before he left London. He’d speed-read a few pages. How hard could it be to turn over some soil and run a lawn mower over a lawn? But, still, he didn’t want to hang around.
But first he had to get past whatever defences this woman had erected and suss her out.
More than that. If she passed the litmus test...
His dark eyes roved lazily over her. Graceful as a gazelle and just as skittish...
‘What’s it like, working here?’ He chose to prolong the conversation.
Sofia clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘I thought you were tired. If I show you to your quarters, you can get an early night, and tomorrow I have a list of what you need to do.’
‘I’ve never been a fan of early nights. What other languages do you speak?’
‘What others do you?’
‘French. Spanish. Italian. Some Mandarin. A sprinkling of a few others...’
‘Very unusual for a gardener,’ Sofia said tartly and Rafael laughed under his breath.
‘Touché. I learnt them on the various jobs I’ve had over the years. I also have a curious mind and, face it, if people are conversing in a foreign language around you then you need to understand what they’re saying, as far as I am concerned. What about you?’
Sofia hesitated. She rarely got the chance to talk to guys. When she wasn’t working, she was studying, looking ahead to a brighter future.
Guys and dating didn’t feature in her calendar, not at this point in time.
But having this good-looking man here in the kitchen, asking her about herself...
She could feel her guard drop a little. The man was going to be around until James and Elizabeth returned with the kids and chances were that they would be thrown into each other’s company frequently. Life would be easier if she opened up a little.
And he was so damned good-looking, so darkly, sinfully spectacular, and he didn’t make her feel...threatened.
She was far too practical for a guy like him to get to her, but he was brilliant eye-candy, and it wouldn’t hurt to give a little. At least converse.
‘I... I spent a great deal of my life on the move,’ she volunteered hesitantly. She sat opposite him and propped her hand under her chin. ‘My mother and I actually used to live in this part of the world, and we returned here eventually, but in the interim life was spent with suitcases at the ready.’
‘That so? Why? It’s a beautiful area...just the sort of place made for roots being put down.’
Sofia shrugged. There was only so far she was prepared to go sharing confidences with a complete stranger, however compelling his attentiveness was. ‘At any rate, we moved about a bit, here and there. Long story, and frankly none of your business. I picked up English from some of the people we met along the way and made sure to practise whenever I could. I’ve always been good at languages.’
And libraries had such huge choice when it came to audio-learning. Wherever and whenever, she’d made the local library her first port of call. In a life of constant moving, libraries had become safe havens, places of stillness and peace. There was a big world out there and she would need to be fluent in English to navigate it successfully. One day.
‘And your mother? Where is she now?’
Sofia glanced away. ‘She died a few months ago. But she’d been ill for a couple of years prior to that. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about that.’ She stood up and smiled politely. ‘I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.’
Rafael vaulted upright. As he came to stand behind her, once again Sofia was intensely aware of his physicality.
At five-ten, she was tall, but he was several inches taller and something about his height, his muscularity, his lazy, masculine magnetism, made her feel feminine and girlish and nothing like the woman with her head firmly screwed on who was determined to control the outcome of her life because she had never had much control over the experiences of her past.
She’d moved from her home in Argentina to another and another before her mother had decided that settling down with an American tourist who had been backpacking through South America at the time might be a good idea. He had been ten years her junior and as responsible as a toddler. The marriage had lasted a year and a half, at which point he had disappeared back to his home in Florida, and they had upped sticks and headed in the opposite direction.
Story of her mother’s life. Pregnant by an older man who had dumped her, breaking her heart in the process, from there on she had launched herself into a career of making the most of her good looks, which had never faded over time.
But that had all changed when, after years spent abroad, they had returned to her mother’s home town where she had spent her final years being cared for by her sister, old friends who had rallied together and, of course, her daughter.
She wondered what this guy would make of her convoluted life history. He had landed here, roving gardener, so he must