‘Was this a working kitchen when you bought the place?’ Fabio asked as Bunty strode down the hard floor towards a dining area at the very back of the room.
‘A gentleman’s tailor. When the house and workshop came on the market, my parents made the old maestro an offer he couldn’t refuse. The skylights and patio windows were his idea, and they still work. I prefer to work in natural light whenever possible.’
‘What do you use the table for?’ Fabio asked, glancing at the huge long, smooth surface stretching away from him towards a set of tall patio doors that seemed to lead onto an outdoor space. Various shapes and sizes of complicated-looking machinery were clustered in the centre.
Bunty reached forward to pick up a plastic container and his gaze was drawn to her long slender fingers, which had clearly never seen a manicure. No rings.
This girl had working hands. Deft and able. He admired talent – always had — and there was something about Bunty that screamed that she knew exactly what she was doing.
He had made a mistake at the restaurant the previous evening when he thought she was attractive. Even in this light she was stunning. She had changed into a smart white chef’s jacket and wide-leg navy blue and white trousers, which contrasted with her porcelain skin. And that hair! Dark auburn brown, tied into a loose knot at the base of her neck. Low black training shoes. She was sexier than she had a right to be.
Years of professional gambling had given him the ability to judge people very quickly.
He was rarely wrong. But of course there could always be a first time, and Bunty Brannigan was certainly hiding something.
Suddenly conscious that he had been ogling her hands for far too long, he looked up into her hazel-green eyes. Intelligent and something else. Wary. And why not?
Perhaps he had better get back to that.
‘So you make all of the food yourself?’ Fabio asked.
‘Please don’t sound quite so surprised, Mr Rossi. I am a trained chef, and this is my work. And my pleasure. I change raw ingredients into delicious finished meals. I also use the kitchen for my catering students from the local college.’
A teacher, then? Smart girl. He liked smart.
‘Does anyone in your family cook from scratch?’ Bunty asked. ‘It’s quite a tradition in mine.’
Fabio laughed out loud at that one, and shook his head at the thought of his mother or sister making an elaborate meal. ‘That would be no. They like to shop. Buy things other people have cooked or follow a few simple recipes when the occasion demands.’ He paused for a few seconds as Bunty rearranged the packets into a neater design. ‘I don’t think a creative gene runs in the Rossi line. Not so far anyway.’
Her lips were full, warm and when she smiled the difference on her face was startling.
‘I am sure you understand how families work, Mr Rossi. Well, this is Caruso family business and I would rather not discuss it.’
‘Well,’ he replied. ‘In that case, we’ll just talk about you instead.’
Bunty turned her head and blinked at Fabio a couple of times, eyebrows high. She found herself drawn to his brown eyes. Only they weren’t brown, more of a soft truffle golden brown like the caramel topping on the finest crème brûlée dessert. His thick, wavy, gelled-back hair was only a little darker than the slight stubble above his lush upper lip and each side of the chiselled chin.
And every pore was oozing sex appeal.
The kind of sex appeal that could encourage a girl to let her guard down and say more about the Caruso family than was necessary or good for family relationships. Especially to a man who worked for her family and was probably being paid to report back everything that she told him.
She glanced at the wall clock and exhaled slowly. She had a couple of hours at most to get her act together before Luca called. She had to come up with a master plan. And there was only one way she knew how to do that – by cooking, and thinking, then cooking some more.
She didn’t have any more time to waste on lawyers. Even if they were only doing their job.
Bunty rolled her shoulders back and inhaled.
She could do this. This was her life. And she was damned if she was going to let anyone tell her how to live it.
Bunty turned around, rubbed her hands together and her eyes instantly locked on Fabio, who looked up at that moment as though prompted by some unseen signal.
Their gazes locked across the few feet of warm kitchen air that separated them. And stayed locked.
The weird thing was, the longer she stared at him, the slower her breathing became, and her fists unclenched one finger at a time until she could rest a hand on each hip.
‘Nice flowers,’ Fabio said in a cool, calm and totally matter-of-fact voice after what seemed like a geological time period of intense quiet. It was a rich, warm voice. And it came from deep within his chest so that it reverberated between the walls before finding a home between her ears.
‘They are. Thank you.’
‘You are most welcome.’ His head tilted about ten degrees to the side. ‘Do you want to talk about last night?’
‘You mean, when you gate-crashed my party?’ she replied.
‘Doing my job. Our client laid down some very specific instructions. Step one was to deliver the package on a specific date to a specific person.’
He nodded in her direction. ‘But there is more. I meant what I said last night. One of the Rossi legal team has to personally see you open that package and work through the contents. And until that is done I am not allowed to leave your side. Have you, by any chance, found the time to…? No?’
Bunty inhaled slowly and did the squinty-eyed thing at him. ‘No. As you can see I have a business to run and your emergency is not my problem. But if you give me your number I’ll let you know when I am good and ready. So feel free to go back to Milan or wherever your office is.’
The corner of Fabio’s mouth twitched just a little. ‘I wish I could, Miss Brannigan. But the client was very clear. And since my client paid in advance, it would be wrong of me to shirk my duty.’
‘How noble. And I really don’t want to appear rude, but things are going to get quite busy around here and you are going to be in my way.’
‘I won’t be in your way.’ He smiled, and turned sideways and slowly started to unpack his laptop computer on her kitchen table. ‘This will be just fine.’
‘Take a gold star for persistence, but you can’t be serious. You actually have to stay here until I open the package you brought all the way from Milan? Was that a nod?’ Bunty crossed her arms and shook her head in disbelief. ‘Unbelievable,’ she snapped. ‘This is blackmail. Pure and simple.’
With a shrug of her shoulders, Bunty broke eye contact, turned and went back to work, focusing on the oil and herbs in the roasting tray. ‘Well, find someone else to use that trick on, Mr Rossi, because I am not playing. Anyone who puts pressure on me to do something is going to find that it does not work.’
‘In that case,’ he said, ‘let’s set out a few game rules. As far as I am concerned, Mr Rossi is my father, chairman of Rossi and Rossi, Milan. I’m Fabio. Will you call me that, Bunty?’
She whirled around to tell him what he could do with setting rules in her kitchen, and froze. His eyes were locked onto her face with an intensity that had the power to blast any sensible thought from her mind.
The air between them was so heavy with electricity that Bunty was terrified to say anything in case one word would cause a spark.