Soon she’d tracked down a massive room, gleaming with stainless steel and dark granite surfaces. Opening the fridge she found the interior near empty; that made sense given Mateo was meant to be on vacation. But there was a leftover roast, perhaps from his dinner earlier. A slab went between two slices of bread and, after enjoying her first mouthful, Bailey turned and discovered a series of floor-to-ceiling glass panes lining the eastern side of the attached room.
Outside, ghostly garden lights illuminated a divine courtyard where geometrically manicured hedges sectioned off individual classical statues. Beyond those panes, a scene from two thousand years ago beckoned … a passionate time when Rome dominated and emperors ruled half the world. Chewing, she hooked a glance around. No one about. Nothing to stop her. A little fresh air would be nice.
She eased back a door and moved out into the cool night, the soles of her bare feet padding over smooth sandstone paths as she wandered between hedges and those exquisite stone figures that seemed so lifelike. She was on her third bite of sandwich when a sound came from behind—a muted click that vibrated through the night and made the fine hairs on her nape stand up and quiver. Heart lodged in her throat, she angled carefully around. One of those figures was gliding toward her. Masculine. Tall. Naked from the waist up.
From behind a cloud, the full moon edged out and the definition of that outline sharpened … the captivating width of his chest, the subtle ruts of toned abs. Bailey’s gaze inched higher and connected with inquiring onyx eyes as a low familiar voice rumbled out.
“You’re up.”
Bailey let out the breath she’d been holding.
Not a statue come to life, but Mateo Celeca standing before her, wearing nothing but a pair of long white drawstring pants. She’d been so absorbed she’d forgotten where she was, as well as the events that had brought her here. Now, in a hot rush, it all came back. Particularly how annoyingly attractive her host was, tonight, with the moonbeams playing over that hard human physique, dramatically so.
When a kernel of warmth ignited in the lowest point of her belly, Bailey swallowed and clasped her sandwich at her chest.
Mateo Celeca might be beyond hot, but, at this point in her life, she didn’t care to even think about the opposite sex, particularly a critical one. Her only concern lay in getting back on her feet and repaying Mama as soon as possible, whether the doctor believed that or not.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said in a surprisingly even voice that belied how churned up she felt.
“You tripped a silent alarm when you opened that door. The security company called to make sure there’d been no breach. I thought it’d be you, but I came down to check, just in case.”
Bailey kicked herself. She’d seen him fiddling with a security pad when she’d arrived. Heaven knew what this place and its contents were insured for. Of course he’d have a state-of-the-art system switched on and jump when an alert went off.
“I was hungry,” she explained then held up dinner. “I made a sandwich.”
She wasn’t sure, but in the shadows she thought he might have grinned—which was way better than a scowl. If he started on her again now, in the middle of the night, she’d simply grab her bag and find the door. But he seemed far more relaxed than this morning when he’d overreacted about the money Mama had loaned her.
“You usually enjoy a starry stroll with your midnight snack?” He asked as he sauntered nearer.
“It looked so nice out.”
“It is pleasant.”
He studied the topiaries and pristine hedges, and this time she was certain of the smile curving one corner of his mouth as he stretched his arms, one higher than the other, over his head. She wanted to fan herself. And she’d thought the statues were works of art.
“Are you a gardener?” She asked, telling herself to look away but not managing it. Bronzed muscles rippled in the moonlight whenever he moved.
“Not at all. But I appreciate the effort others put in.”
“This kind of effort must be twenty-four seven.”
“What about you?” He asked, meandering toward a trickling water feature displaying a god-like figure ready to sling a lightning bolt.
“No green thumbs here.” Moving to join him, she tipped her head at the fountain. “Is that Zeus?” She remembered a recent movie about the Titans. “The god of war, right?”
“Zeus is the god of justice. The supreme protector. Perhaps because he could have lost his life at the very moment he entered the world.”
“Really? How?” Moving to sit on the cool fountain ledge, she took another bite. She loved to hear about ancient legends.
“His father, Cronus, believed in a prophecy. He would be overthrown by his son as he had once overthrown his own father. To save her newborn, Rhea, Zeus’s mother, gave him up at birth then tricked her husband into thinking a rock wrapped in swaddling clothes was the child, which Cronus promptly disposed of. He didn’t know that his son, Zeus, was being reared by a nymph in Crete. When he was grown, Zeus joined forces with his other siblings to defeat the Titans, including his father.”
She couldn’t help but be drawn by Mateo’s story, as well as the emotion simmering beneath his words. Had she imagined the shadow that had crossed his gaze when he spoke of that mother needing to give up her child?
“What happened to Zeus after the clash?” She asked.
“He ruled over Olympus as well as the mortals, and fathered many children.”
“Sounds noble.”
“The great majority of his offspring were conceived through adulterous affairs, I’m afraid.”
Oh. “Not so good for the demigod kids.”
“Not so good for any child.”
Bailey studied his classic profile as he peered off into the night … the high forehead and proud, hawkish nose. She wanted to ask more. Not only about this adulterous yet protective Roman god but also about the narrator of his tale. Not that Mateo’s life was any of her business. Although …
For the moment he seemed to have put aside his more paranoid feelings toward her, and this was an informal chat. In the morning she’d be well rested and on her way, so where was the harm in asking more?
Making a pretense of examining the gardens, she crossed her ankles and swung her feet out and back.
“Mama mentioned that you left Casa Buona when you were twelve.”
His hesitation—a single beat—was barely enough to notice.
“My father was moving to Australia. He explained about the opportunities here. Ernesto was an accountant and wanted to look after my higher education.”
“Have you lived in Sydney since?”
He nodded. “But I travel when I can.”
“You must have built a lot of memories here after so long.”
Who were his friends? All professionals like him? Did he have any other family Down Under?
But Mateo didn’t respond. He merely looked over the gardens with those dark thoughtful eyes. From the firm set of his jaw, her host had divulged all he would tonight. Understandable. They were little more than strangers. And, despite this intimate atmosphere, they were destined to remain that way.
A statue caught Bailey’s eye. After slipping off her perch, she crossed over and ran a hand across the cool stone.
“I like this one.”
It was a mother, her head bowed over the baby she held. The tone conjured up memories of