Ben almost felt sorry for her as he answered, ‘You really shouldn’t issue a challenge like that, Lia...’
‘YOU REALLY SHOULDN’T issue a challenge like that...’
That evening, Benjamin Carter’s words still resounded in Lia’s head. Damn the man.
After pacing her sumptuous room for a couple of hours that morning, she’d finally explored the dressing room. Determined to make the most of this situation, she’d kitted herself out in a modest bathing suit and some beach attire. After helping herself to a light lunch in the kitchen she’d headed to the beach.
There had been no sign of Benjamin Carter, much to her relief, but she had heard some noises that sounded as if they were coming from the front of the house. Not wanting to face him in a diaphanous beach cover-up, she’d found an idyllic spot on the beach under the shade of a palm tree, out of immediate sight of the villa.
For a few hours she had almost fooled herself that she was on a vacation she’d chosen willingly. She’d dozed, swum, and read a book that she’d pulled off the shelf in the comfortable den.
She’d returned to the villa as dusk was falling and had nearly tripped over her own feet when she’d seen a half-naked Ben Carter perched precariously on the terracotta rooftop of the villa. Her eyes had been immediately drawn to the sleek muscles of his broad back, moving sinuously under his skin as he’d hammered something into a slate.
The fact that he had been laughing and joking with another man, whose ebony skin had also been gleaming with exertion, had gone largely unnoticed. Carter had been wearing nothing but a faded pair of board shorts and battered-looking sneakers.
Lia had almost jumped out of her skin when a melodious and mischievous-sounding voice had said near her ear, ‘Not a bad sight at the end of a hot day, hmm?’
She’d looked to her left to see a startlingly pretty young woman, with skin the colour of warm chocolate, eyes to match and a huge smile. With a colourful scarf on her head, she had blended into the exotic background perfectly.
The woman had introduced herself as Esmé, and after explaining that the other man was her husband had said, ‘I was just coming to find you. Ben sends his apologies for being busy all afternoon but says he’ll look forward to you joining him for dinner at eight.’
Lia had been about to demur when she’d realised she was being ridiculous, and that this nice woman didn’t deserve to be put out just because the last person she wanted to have dinner with was her host.
Are you so sure about that? a little voice had crowed.
In any event, Lia had made her escape from the provocative view of a far less civilised Benjamin Carter before he’d been able to turn around and see her reaction, which was confusing to her on so many levels. Since when had she found men doing manual labour particularly enticing? And why did the sight of him doing something so earthy appeal to her so much?
She cursed her revolving thoughts now, as she debated what to wear after her shower. A part of her wanted to wear jeans and a shirt, but then she thought of the mocking look in Carter’s eyes when he registered that she was obviously trying not to make an effort. So instead she picked out a simple black silk dress that had a scooped neckline and a gathered waist. It fell to her knees. Positively nun-like. Perfect.
After applying a minimum of make-up, and pulling her hair back into a low bun, she slid on her own kitten heel shoes and made her way downstairs, noticing that she was just on time. She was just grumbling to herself that she was pathologically incapable of being late, even if she wanted to be, when Carter appeared in the lobby below, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other.
He’d been transformed from manual labourer back to suave, elegant businessman, in dark charcoal-coloured trousers and a light grey shirt. Lia could see that his normally unruly hair looked damp, and was bombarded with an X-rated image of him in a shower, with water sluicing down over those impressive muscles.
‘Esmé told me she’d found you. I apologise again for leaving you to your own devices but after Joao—Esmé’s husband—offered his services for the afternoon, we managed to get all the maintenance jobs done at once.’
Lia wasn’t quite sure how she’d made it down the stairs, but now she was standing only a few feet away from him. Something about his easy manner and her sense of this villa feeling far too familiar, even after such a short time, was very disconcerting.
Her voice was husky. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to entertain me. I had a lovely afternoon on the beach.’
His voice had a faintly disbelieving tone. ‘You weren’t bored?’
Lia shook her head, realising that the afternoon had been far more pleasant than she’d even admitted to herself. And if she had felt a tiny sense of loneliness it hadn’t been for the company of this man, she assured herself fiercely, and got a grip on her wayward emotions. She put it down to the after-effects of the sun.
‘I swam and read a book. I haven’t had a chance to do that for a long time.’
He didn’t respond, but Lia could imagine that Carter believed she meant since her last luxury holiday. She bit back the urge to disabuse him of that notion. She didn’t care what his opinion of her was... All that mattered was putting up with this weekend for the sake of his charitable donation.
Lia followed him into the salon, where the lights had been dimmed and candles flickered invitingly. The air was still warm after the day, and it was heavenly after the biting breeze of autumn in New York.
Carter turned from where he was opening some wine at a drinks cabinet. ‘Would you like a glass? It’s from a good friend’s vineyard in Argentina.’
Lia was about to say no, but then something stopped her. A rogue desire to give in to this seductive relaxation. So she nodded and took the glass of chilled white wine, noticing that Ben Carter had picked up a glass of what looked like water. She recalled that he hadn’t ordered alcohol on their date—or non-date. And he hadn’t been drinking at the charity auction.
‘You don’t drink?’ she heard herself asking, before she could stop the words.
He shook his head and gestured for her to take a seat on the couch behind her. He sat on another couch, on the other side of the coffee table, his arm spread across the back, his big body dominating the space easily.
Lia looked away and took a sip of wine. It slid down her throat like cool silk, its bouquet flooding her senses and making her head instantly light. And even though she wasn’t looking at him his image was burned into her retinas. He reminded Lia of a lounging pasha she’d seen once in a painting, surrounded by a bevy of exotic beauties. The civilised surroundings didn’t diminish his robust masculinity at all. And that provocative memory of him half-naked wasn’t helping.
He eventually supplied, ‘I don’t drink. At all.’
She couldn’t keep averting her gaze, so she looked back to see that his expression was almost challenging. She just shrugged, as if her curiosity wasn’t as piqued as it was. ‘I don’t drink much myself...a couple of glasses is usually my limit.’
Some of the tension seemed to go out of his shoulders. The thought of him having had a drink problem... She just couldn’t see it. He was way too in control. Perhaps it had something to do with his upbringing?
Just then Esmé appeared at the entrance of the room and told them dinner was served. Ben stood and let Lia precede him out of the room to the dining room next door, similarly dimly lit, with candles flickering.
A table was set with a white tablecloth and silver. It was very romantic. And that, along with her sudden curiosity to know more about this man, made Lia say stiffly, ‘You really shouldn’t have gone to this trouble.’
He